Hurts Like Heaven
by Mel O'Dramer
Summary: Even after all the struggle and heartache you've faced, you're still not sure how you got to this point—how you've somehow ended up in the one place you never thought you'd be. G!P
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

**Warning: G!P, so if you don't like it, don't read it.**

* * *

It's late November, and you're out with two of your closest girlfriends, hanging around inside the local bakery shop down the street from your apartment in the city. You never thought in a million years that this would be a typical Saturday morning for you, but Quinn and Rachel remind you of home and a time in your life when you were actually looking forward to your future, and you don't seem to _want _to avoid them anymore. Their playful and flirtatious banters are almost heartening now—after three years—and you'll never admit to it, but you think it's actually kind of cute. Deep down, you want what they have so desperately that it hurts your heart and makes your throat swell. And then you start to wonder if you're now allergic to that _want_, and that if you just let your desires go, you won't feel like you're suffocating anymore.

But Rachel and Quinn are the only people who seem to be able to put up with your moody attitudes—prompted by your helpless love life now days, so the idea of making any new friends is kind of like a roadblock in your head. So you keep them around, if only to keep you slightly sane and to remind you of what you want but can't have.

You wish you could deny the truth that runs through your mind every time you see them: that, though you wish with every ounce of your being that it wasn't so, you will never love anyone else. Your heart belongs to her, and it always will.

And as you watch dark storm clouds roll in through the clear glass window of the store, there's a sense of urgency and need tugging at your heart and stomach, and you're trying your damnedest to keep it hidden behind your best fake façade.

It's not like they really care to take notice either way; they're caught up in _them_, while you're stuck being—well, being_ you_. They talk and you reflect—that's just how it is and has been for a while now.

And through all the struggle in life that you've faced, you're still not sure how you got to this point—how you've somehow ended up in the one place you never thought you'd be. Because true love is never supposed to make you feel like this. Yeah, you've always been a bit of a cynic when it came to happiness and love and all that crap, but _Brittany_ was never supposed to make you feel like this—like you aren't as good or worthy as you used to believe you were, along time ago.

You've been listening to Quinn's hushed conversations with Rachel behind your back for the past few months. And even though they don't think you can hear what they're saying, their whispers are even louder than screams to your sensitive ears.

You know that they still talk to her on the phone sometimes—you hear her name come up during casual conversations before they remember that you're still here and the whole subject is kind of taboo. They don't really see her anymore, but they still talk occasionally. You're kind of glad that she's as much of a mystery to them now as she is to you.

You know that Brittany's with someone else and doing really well—you saw the wedding invitation posted on the refrigerator door in their apartment before Rachel took notice and quickly tore the cream-colored card from its place to stuff it under a pile of bills.

You know that she finally graduated from Juilliard last year—you saw her name in the paper for a show at the Lincoln Center. For a few seconds, you considered maybe attending; you could've just slid in the back of the theatre to watch her perform and then left before the lights turned back on. But then you remembered that she asked you to stay away, and you didn't want to risk making her upset. You respect her too much for that.

So this is how you and Brittany are now: she lives her life without a single thought of you, while you are constantly reminded of her everywhere you go. You often wonder if this is karma, but you can't for the life of you understand what you did to deserve this. Isn't making sacrifices just part of everyday life? When did everything you do and did become _wrong_?

You know that it's days away now and that Quinn went shopping for her dress last weekend. You want to be pissed at them for abandoning you and going along with all this nonsense, but then you remind yourself that they don't know. You never told them.

They always thought the two of you just grew apart and needed space. They don't know that you let her go, even though you loved her and still love her so completely.

They don't know _how _you ended things.

But you were young and stubborn, and you didn't understand that you could still be good for her, even if you weren't rich or famous. She was going places; she was going to become the star that you couldn't be and earn the credit that she so deserved, but you couldn't see past yourself. You were so caught up in your failures and your losses and your differences that you never realized all that you_ could_ be—all that you are now—and feel proud to just be you.

Even when you were much younger, you knew what it felt like to be too different and wrong to the world. You hated the way you had been made. You hated that you never really felt like you belonged. But Brittany had always been there to make you feel like you were special, and not in the you're-a-freak-with-an-extra-part kind of way, but a loved and cherished kind of way. You realize now that you should have been proud then. That you have every right to feel good about yourself now.

You wish you could tell her this; you want her to know that you never gave up on her and that every choice you ever made was always with her best interest in mind. Because she always had yours at the forefront of her thoughts. You guess you just wish that she could have believed in you like you believe in her.

And now she's getting married to a man that you've never met but already hate. You feel like he stole her from you, even if she never really belonged to you in the first place. You feel cheated out of a life and love that you spent years trying to deserve. You're so sure that _he _never worked this hard for Brittany's love, like you've spent your whole entire _life_ doing.

You can't fathom the idea of someone loving her as much or more than you do. Not when you feel so damn _empty _without her. Even if you've learned to live with and carry that emptiness with you every step of the way.

You've never felt so fucking helpless.

* * *

You decide to finally talk to Quinn about Brittany the next day when you're flipping through the racks of clothes at your favorite boutique. Rachel's in the studio today recording her next song, so you feel a little more comfortable opening up. Quinn's always given you a straight answer; she's not going to skirt around your feelings as much without Rachel around to give her a stern and warning eye.

"How exactly do you fit into jeans like these?" Quinn holds up a pair of skinny pants, and you want to laugh at her curiosity.

Quinn's seen you naked only once before—you used to share an apartment and bathroom—so you know she's seen your extra _appendage._ And after a bit of embarrassment and shock and explaining, Quinn had been kind of impressed. You're maybe… sort of… well, not really all that small _down there_.

"Honestly, I have no idea," you smirk and shake your head at your best friend, who just rolls her eyes at you playfully. Maybe Quinn's good mood will give you an answer that you want.

You decide to wait a few minutes longer to drop the ball, but when you do, it doesn't really come out the way you planned.

"Have you met him?" you mumble, anger seeping through every word.

Quinn's eyebrows shoot up at your question. Maybe it's because you haven't been much of a conversation starter for the past few months. Actually, you can't really remember the last time you _really _said anything important to your friends. Or maybe it's because she's been waiting for you to say something since you found out that Brittany's getting married, and she's impressed that you finally found your balls.

"I was just wondering what he's like," you elaborate before turning away from her, not wanting to see her next reaction.

As you shuffle through the rack to your right, you can feel your heartbeat reaching dangerous speeds, so you try your best to calm down.

"Yeah… we've met him," she hesitates, as if she's wondering whether she should continue or not.

You turn around and give her a pleading look, silently asking her to keep going—telling her that you need to know.

She shakes her head once and then turns back to the clothes. "He's—he's a really _nice _guy. We ran into them at dinner one night. I don't really know that much about him, but he seems… good to her," she pauses and looks towards you. "And she seems happy with him," she finishes.

"Seems?" you squeak, a little hopefulness in you voice. You're sure Quinn doesn't miss it.

She shrugs and smiles, her kind and knowing eyes shine with sympathy. You almost have to turn away from them because they make you feel pitied, and that's the last thing you want.

"We're not as close as we used to be, Santana. If I could tell you how Brittany's feeling then I would, but I honestly don't know. She's changed a lot since you saw her last."

And the words hurt you a little more as they pour from her mouth. You're so torn between wanting Brittany to be happy and wanting her to be miserable just so you might have a chance.

A chance?

Is that what you want? Are you really considering making a play? Is this why you're asking Quinn the questions that you haven't been able to ask until now?

"_Santana_," Quinn says in that knowing, singsong tone, like she's reading your mixed and jumbled thoughts as they're projected across your forehead. She really knows you too well.

"What?" you say blankly, trying to hide the seriousness of the situation in your voice.

"Brittany's moved on now, and you can't just show up and throw words around again like it hasn't been five years since you saw her last. She's not going to take well to anything you might have to say," Quinn sighs when she sees your face fall. "You have to let her go."

It hurts more than you thought it would, but Quinn's probably right. And you wouldn't have asked her in the first place if you didn't want her honesty. You can be thankful for that at least.

"I'm glad she didn't invite me to her wedding," you mumble under your breath.

You know Quinn hears you and the lie beneath your words.

* * *

It's Monday and you're sitting on the couch in Quinn and Rachel's apartment, staring at the bookshelf where a picture of you and the Glee Club rests. You can't believe that it's been twelve years since you all were standing on the stage at Nationals and cheering and smiling excitedly because you finally, _finally_ earned what you had worked so hard for.

It stirs up a bit of anger inside of you that you hadn't been expecting. It seems that high school really isn't anything like the real world.

You always thought that if you worked hard enough, you would eventually succeed and get what you deserved. That if you practiced and practiced and practiced until you didn't think you could anymore, you'd eventually get your chance—you'd earn your rightful win.

But no one in high school ever tells you about dying parents, and vocal surgery that ruins your singing career forever, or an industry in which you can never be good enough to make it. They never teach you about luck and fate and the things that you have absolutely no control over, even when you've done just about everything _right_.

High school doesn't teach you what it really _means_ to be an adult and live on your own—_alone—_while your friends move on and get married. While the people you thought were never going to be anything make it big, and you're stuck with thousands of dollars in rent payments and hospital, electric, water, and phone bills. When you're hurting and lashing out at the only girl you've ever loved because you feel worthless and know she deserves better.

Yeah, high school is nothing like the real world.

But you guess you should be grateful, because you've ended up on the other end much tougher and more resilient than before. You've learned that what doesn't kill you, does indeed make you stronger. You've learned the true meaning of loss and acceptance; you've learned to love the different parts of yourself. Like the fact that you are a stickler when it comes to any argument, and that you can plead your case better than anyone you know. Like the reality that you don't have to be on television or the radio to be successful, or that you don't need to be publicly showing off to know you're making a difference in the world.

You've probably changed more than anyone else you know.

Rachel tells you that she likes the new you much better, and most of the time you just sort of snort and laugh it off, but deep down you know you agree. You love _most_ parts of the new you—the parts that don't burn and ache. You spend much more time in your head, thinking before you say things, and analyzing situations and conversations with an attorney's eyes and ears. Your hesitant personality has actually surprised you.

You wonder what Brittany would think of the new you.

You hope that she would like the more humble Santana.

* * *

It's not like you were _looking _for it, but when you stumble across Rachel's address book, and it just so happens to be flipped open under the letter _**B**_, you don't turn your head and continue on like you _didn't _see it.

And it's not like you can _help _the fact that your memory is almost photographic, so now the numbers and letters are stained to your mind like permanent marker.

And you _most certainly_ can't help the traffic on the way home that leads you to drive thirty blocks out of your way and to the neighborhood that just so happens to be running over and over in your head.

No, it was all a complete accident.

When you park your new car—a perk of actually _having _money—on the side of the road and look up to the house in question, you fall back into your seat and take deep, slow breaths to calm your now erratic heart and lungs.

Questions and thoughts are running rampant in your mind, and you just want a second to think about what you're going to do.

Quinn warned you that Brittany would not want to see you or hear your excuses at this point. Not a week before her wedding. Not when you haven't seen her in what feels like forever.

But somewhere in your heart, hiding from you, there's a piece of you that doesn't think she'll be upset or angry to see you. Some part of you thinks that she must still miss you just as much as you miss her. Because she's the love of your life, and a love like that just doesn't fade away.

And that small piece of you seems to be burning brighter than any other, so you're reaching for the handle in the car and taking your first steps up to the home. Each stair-step you climb feels like you're hiking up a mountain peak.

The house is beautiful and perfect in every sense of the word. It reminds you of Brittany and her contagious joy and silliness, especially the many different paints coating the exterior of the house and the little cat statues and gnomes littered throughout the yard. The small chimes that sing and ring out every time a gust of wind whips past you and the colorful rocking chairs resting on the beautiful, old wooden porch. Everything reminds you of Brittany and your childhood.

You kind of hope that Brittany's innocent craziness annoys her fiancé, just so you know that there's one more reason Brittany's supposed to be with you.

When you finally bring your hand up to touch the tiny lit button, your heartbeat's even more irregular than it was in the car. You hope to god that Brittany's soon-to-be husband isn't home and that it's just her so that the two of you can talk without any distractions or buffers. There are things you need to say to her, and you're sure that her fiancé wouldn't really appreciate hearing them.

But after all this time, fate has proven that it's not always on your side, and that's the first thing that crosses your mind when the door swings open and a little brunette girl and man appear on the other side of the threshold.

You think about fate first and how much the world seems to hate you, and then your eyes fall to two miniature blue ones and your heart actually _stops_. Just for a second, but it stops.

The little girl can't be too old—she's so small. Her eyes are wide and gorgeous, and her frame is thin but strong, and you feel like your seeing Brittany again for the first time when you're at daycare and she's staring at you like your some sort of princess or something and she's never seen anyone more beautiful.

You don't think _you've_ ever seen anyone as beautiful, except maybe the little girl's mother.

_Mother_. You cringe at the word and you feel your stomach drop and tumble inside, rolling over and over. It hurts so much more because you had no idea, and all of a sudden you feel out of place and intrusive, like this is the _last _place you should be.

"Hi," the man says, questioningly. But your eyes stay fixed on the wide-eyed girl and her eyes stay fixed on you.

"I-I was looking f-for Brittany… but if sh-she's not here, I-I think I'll j-just go," you manage to ramble out, stuttering your nervous way through the words.

"Oh," the man pauses, and shifts awkwardly before clearing his throat and continuing. "No, come on in. She's just upstairs."

While he ushers you inside their warm home, sudden chills cover your skin, and you feel an urgent and foreign sense of claustrophobia come over you. You kind of feel like you want to vomit.

The man closes the door behind the three of you, and then turns to meet your worried eyes. You sense a bit of recognition on his face as he looks you over and reads your expression. You think he knows who you are.

As if to remind you that he's somehow won here—that he's beaten you—he looks down towards Mini-Brittany and tells her to "go find Mommy because a visitor's here to see her." She rushes off faster than any child you've ever seen. Your eyes trail after her and you kind of want to cry because of how beautiful she is.

"Brittany's told me about you," the man says. You look back towards the voice and cringe again. "I guess I should have expected this visit," he mumbles, annoyed, and you don't like him already.

Yeah, you already hated him before you got here, but you didn't even know him. And now… now you still don't know him, but you hate him even more for taking that tone with you—like he's so much better than you are.

Just when you're about to say something back to him, you hear footsteps coming down the stairwell, and you freeze.

"Babe, who is it?" you hear Brittany's voice echo off the walls and you swallow loudly, trying to prepare yourself for seeing her again.

But when Brittany rounds the corner and her eyes bug out of her beautiful face and her expression turns into one of panic, you're not quite sure if any length of time could have prepared you for this.

"Santana?" Brittany exhales, like she's relieved, yet still completely worried that you've caught her doing something she shouldn't be. "What are you doing here?"

You feel like asking yourself the same question.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback! I want to crank this whole story out before I go back to school in a few weeks, so your support really helps keep me motivated to write. I should be able to update every day or so if I'm not too busy. So thanks for coming back and sticking around to see where this little story goes. I hope you enjoy!**

**I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

* * *

Brittany finally walks towards you—once you shift your stance for the tenth time since you've arrived—pointing towards the adjoining den and couch. You follow her across the floor and take a seat next to her on the leather sofa. Silence fills the air and you can swear your heart's beating loud enough for everyone to hear.

There's a small motion out of the corner of your eye, and you turn to face Mini-Brittany as she hops up onto a large tan accent chair next to you. She looks even smaller now—if that's possible—when she begins to kick her tiny legs back and forth across the fabric, her feet barely dangling off the edge. She's smiling brightly at you and you can't help but smile back at her.

"I'll be in the kitchen, Britt," you hear the man say as he leaves the room, and you suddenly realize that you didn't even get an introduction.

You don't even know the name of the man who's marrying the woman you love. You guess you probably shouldn't even care at this point.

"I didn't know you were coming," Brittany finally says, and you let out a long exhale, taking a minute to formulate an appropriate response. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She looks so different now, yet still so completely beautiful. Her blonde hair has grown out since you last saw her, and now falls way past her shoulders in gentle curls. Her smile has lost some of its spark, just like her eyes, but it's been replaced with a more calm and soft warmth. She looks like a mother and you just let it burn a hole right through your heart.

"You look good," you motion towards her and give her the most heartfelt smile you can manage in the moment. Even though you feel really out of place, you're truly being as sincere as possible.

"You too," she responds, more breathless than anything else. Her eyes fall over your body once, and you feel goose bumps form across your skin.

It's quiet after that, and you can practically hear the million different thoughts running through your busy mind once the room turns quiet again, but you can't seem to find any order within them.

You want to ask her about what she's up to—how her career's taken off.

The last time you saw her, she was finishing up a dance tour in the States and working hard in school at Juilliard. You wonder what took her so long to graduate, but then you remember that Brittany is_ Brittany_, and no one can really place any sort of confines and limits around her before she's off on her next great adventure.

That's one of the things you love about her the most—her crazy ideas and almost irrational spontaneity—and you hope that she's as happy in her career as you are in yours.

You want to ask her about her family because you know how close she used to be with them before, and you hope that they're still acting as a support system for her now. The last time you saw her mom, you were out shopping at the grocery store, and she was pestering you about an engagement. She really had no idea how far south everything had gone at that point. How much you were struggling.

You kind of really miss her parents and their strange yet kind hearts. They remind you of your mom and dad, and sadly, that you'll never see them again. You wonder if Brittany misses your parents like you've missed hers.

You want to ask her about her home, and how she managed to find such a perfect little house in the city.

You want to ask her about her fiancé—even if you can't stand him—to know how happy or unhappy she is with him.

You guess she wouldn't be marrying him if she was unhappy, but you can still hope.

You want to ask her what it's like to be a mom because you always thought she would make a wonderful mother, and you're really proud of her.

You're head is swarming with desire to ask her all of these questions, but for some reason they get crowded up in your throat, and none of them can cram their way out.

"I saw that article in the newspaper last year about you and Juilliard," you finally say and exhale with relief.

Her eyes are wide and she's giving you that look that makes you feel like she's seeing straight through you, so you squirm in your seat, hoping that she'll turn her eyes away for a second. She doesn't.

"Yeah, well I'm not really dancing all that much anymore," you see her expression turn kind of regretful, and it hurts you to see her like that.

"Why not?"

She shrugs her shoulders and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm running a dance studio now, so I don't have much time for it anymore," she answers.

You can't tell if she's sad about it or not, and your inability to read her as well as you used to be able to aggravates you a bit. Maybe Quinn was right when she said that Brittany is almost a completely different person now than the girl you once knew. You want Brittany to be happy more than anything.

"What about you?" she asks. "Are you working again?"

You're a little disappointed that she has to ask you that question, but you know it's completely fair. When you and her were still together, you were struggling to just keep a job to pay the rent. After you lost your singing career, your perfect voice wasn't the only thing that disappeared. Your depression drove you to an edge where your drive and passion—the traits that you always thought would never abandon you—were gone.

"Yeah, I'm… working again. Actually, I graduated from law school this past year," you quietly admit, hoping that she's maybe a little bit impressed. You want her to be proud of you. "I joined this firm with a guy one of my teachers introduced me to. We do a lot of work for big businesses and… stuff like that," you swallow audibly and look up towards the ceiling nervously.

Feeling so awkward around Brittany isn't something that you ever thought you'd have to deal with.

"I'm really happy for you, Santana," you meet Brittany's eyes and squirm again. She's throwing you some _killer_ looks today, and you're feeling it everywhere.

You don't know what to say after that. You don't know what to say to Brittany when there's Mini-Brittany sitting next to you and a man down the hall probably listening to every word the two of you speak. You thought this would be easier; you thought that this was a good idea.

You wish you had something more important to say right now, but you have a lot of respect for Brittany and what she's created for herself here. And you don't want to be insensitive in any way.

Mini-Brittany seems to have perfect timing because she hiccups and then lets out the most adorable little giggle you've ever heard before you get the chance to make up something just to fill the uncomfortable silence. And then you turn to watch her staring at you with those same wide eyes, and you realize that you should probably stop calling her Mini-Brittany in your head because that's certainly not her name.

"Hi," you say in the most positive and cheerful tone you can muster up. "What's your name?"

The little girl smiles brightly and then drags her self up the chair so she can sit upright and see you better.

"Lilly," she speaks, and you swear that she sounds just like child-Brittany the moment the name leaves her lips.

"What's your name?" she retorts, not a bit of shyness or hesitation behind her question.

"Santana," you answer as you watch her face light up again, like you're some sort of angel or something and she can't look away.

"That's pretty," she says and then pulls her teensy legs up towards her chest to wrap her arms around them. Her smile hasn't faded for a second as she continues to stare at you with her awestruck eyes.

Except for that head of dark brown hair, you're certain that this little girl is an exact replica of Brittany when she was… four maybe? Three? She's so perfectly tiny. Completely and utterly stunning, just like her mom.

"How old are you, Lilly?" you ask.

You feel Brittany stiffen suddenly at the question, but you don't really think much about it or make anything of it.

"Five," she answers proudly.

You're not sure how long you stare and wait. Maybe it's only a couple of seconds, or maybe it's closer to a few minutes or so of you just sitting there, while the gears in your head are clicking and spinning away.

It takes you a little longer than it should to digest and comprehend the meaning behind her answer because your first thought is that she's way too small to be five. Maybe three or four, but not _five__**.**_

And you remember that five years is a long time, and that you were a completely different person back then.

And then you feel a little stupid because you're _really _puzzled that there's something not quite right about her answer.

And then your face scrunches up in calculating confusion, and your head tilts to the side as you go over the math in your head again and again, trying to come up with any other possibility. But when the numbers keep telling you something that you can't quite believe, you turn back to Brittany with the most serious, questioning and confused look you're sure she has ever seen on your face.

"Brittany?" you say, a little bit of fear dripping from her name.

You guess her silence and scared expression should be an answer in itself, but you want to hear the words from her own mouth because you're not sure you _want _to believe them.

"Brittany?" you repeat, even more serious than before.

Instead of answering you, Brittany turns to Lilly and smiles.

"Lil', why don't you go see about helping Robbie with dinner," she says affectionately. You didn't miss the way she's referred to her fiancé as Robbie, instead of _Daddy_.

You think that maybe you hate this man a little less than before. Just a little.

Lilly runs off towards the kitchen and you feel an unexpected tiny rush of love course through your veins and into your pounding heart.

But then that love turns into anger because Brittany still hasn't said anything and you're starting to reach that point where you throw caution to the wind and start spouting swear words left and right and all around you in a cloud of fury.

Brittany must know you well enough because she finally clears her throat and sighs before telling you the answer to the question that you haven't verbalized, but know she's heard.

"She's our daughter, Santana," she explains quickly and quietly, and you feel that anger bubbling up to the surface again before you can help it.

Your mouth's hanging open and your eyes are wide, and you're looking at Brittany like she has no right to give you any excuse to explain how this could possibly _ever_ be _okay_.

You take a few minutes to try and wrap your head around this bombshell, but you're not really getting anywhere. You try and understand how, if all this is _really _true, you could have ended up in this situation in the first place. How Brittany—the only woman you will _ever _love—could have done this to you.

The words come out much louder than you intended, but you're pretty sure that you get your point across.

"And… you didn't think that—I don't know, maybe some time in the past _five years_—it would've been a good idea to call me up and say, 'Hey, Santana. I know we ended things badly, and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner, but we have a _child_ together'!"

You see Brittany flinch, but you don't really feel sorry for speaking in the manner in which you did. You're so fucking fuming-mad right now, and you know any excuse Brittany throws at you is only going to make you feel worse.

"I know… and I'm so, _so _sorry Santana," she begs.

"Unbelievable," you can't understand this for a second. You don't really want to attempt to try either.

"But after we broke up, I was still so mad at you. And then I found out I was pregnant, and it was like… too much to take at once. My head was telling me to just call you and talk to you, but my heart was still hurting so much, and I didn't think I was ready to see you again, let alone have you back in my life for forever. I just…" she takes a second to breathe before finishing. "I c-couldn't," she chokes out.

You bite your bottom lip; your head's shaking back and forth quickly in disbelief. You swear that you can feel steam shooting out of your ears and your face turning that very unattractive shade of red, but you don't really care right now. You don't think you've ever been this mad at _anyone_, not just Brittany.

"And then Lilly was born and I was fine—we were fine without you. And it was just so much easier without you around to remind me of how much you broke my heart and hurt me. And then I met Rob and…"

You won't let her finish that sentence; you _really _don't want to hear about another man taking care of _your _kid—_your _daughter.

Those words sting at your heart more than anything Brittany's said today.

"No, Brittany," your hand goes up and your eyes find the ceiling.

"I'm s-sorry," she mumbles and you finally realize that she's crying.

This is way too much for you to handle.

You need time to digest and _breathe _because you feel like everything's just crashing down around you and you're suffocating.

One minute you were talking about jobs and passing uncomfortable pleasantries and thinking about how to maybe stop a wedding, and now… now you're finding out that that beautiful little girl who you thought belonged to her _fiancé_—that child who you haven't been able to keep your eyes off in the time that you've been here—is actually _yours_. Yours and Brittany's.

Fate must really hate you today, and you're starting to feel like you might pass out. Actually faint.

You're standing up and walking away before you give her a chance to say anything else. You know her words will make you so much angrier at this point, and you don't want to say or do something you'll regret later.

You're shaking your head and trying not to knock something over on your way out. You toss a rather rude "goodbye" over your shoulder, and then you're running out the door and stumbling down the steps to get to your car. Your vision is clouded with tears the whole way there.

* * *

It takes you a few hours and about five or six beers from your fridge to calm yourself down, but now you're feeling really drunk and bitterly unhappy instead. You're kind of missing that anger now.

Your back hits your large bed and you groan out to the world for making you feel like a damn, immature _child. _

And then you actually start sobbing because you just _thought_ the word 'child' and freaked out.

It's been about five years since you felt this horrible about yourself. And god, you love Brittany so fucking much, but she's not really turning out to be all that good for your mental health.

You consider calling Quinn and just yelling at her because you really need to vent to someone, and she's the only one who could possibly be up this late at night: Quinn's a night-owl writer. She'll set you straight and tell you what to do. She'll call you a couple of not-so-nice names and throw a bunch of criticisms your way that you probably deserve.

Now that you've had time to think it through, you realize that you shouldn't have left the way you did. That you should have stayed and attempted to talk things over with Brittany and clear some of the air. Because intruding on her family and just showing up out of the blue was not really fair to her either.

No matter how angry you were and still are.

But when the room starts spinning and you're not sure if you can actually get up out of bed to grab your phone, you decide to save any conversation with Quinn until tomorrow.

Now, all you _actually _want to do is take off your tight black jeans, because your junk's kind of all tangled up and it's _really _uncomfortable, and fall face forward into your warm sheets so you can sleep off the alcohol seeping through your bloodstream. You cringe when you think about the hangover you'll surely have in the morning.

You only get your zipper unzipped and your pants pulled down to your knees before you're groaning and giving up and falling into a restless slumber.

* * *

You were definitely right about the hangover last night, but after a few cups of coffee, you've actually managed to get in your car and head to your office. You're not sure if you'll have a very productive day, with your mind still a complete mess and all, but you can't just_ not_ show up for work.

You get through about five hours worth of messy documents and conversations and arguments with people you could really care less about right now—which sort of pleasantly surprises you—before you get a call from Quinn.

You left a message on her phone this morning, knowing that she was probably still sleeping, telling her to call you when she wakes up.

"Hey, what's up?" she says after you pick up and whisper to your partner that you're going out for a lunch break.

You take a seat on a bench outside your office building and unwrap a turkey and swiss sandwich from your brown baggy lunch. You wait to take your first bite.

"So… I know you advised me not to, but I kind of went to see Brittany yesterday evening," you admit innocently, trying to protect yourself somehow.

You hear shuffling on the other end of the line before it goes quiet, and all you can hear is Quinn's soft breathing.

"I told you not to, Santana," she says sternly, like you've committed some crime. You secretly feel like you have.

You shake your head, just like you're sure Quinn's doing right now, and take a deep breath before dropping the more important news.

"She has a kid, Quinn," you say, the words hurt more than you expected.

"What?" Quinn sort of yells into the line. Her confused and disbelieving voice mirrors your feelings from last night and all morning.

"She has a five-year-old daughter named Lilly, Q," all seriousness laden in your tone.

During the brief pause following your statement, you know that Quinn's doing the math in her head too—the same figuring that you were trying to work out just yesterday.

"There's no way—five years old? That would mean…" Quinn stops in the middle of her sentence.

"It means…" you sigh, still not exactly able to say the words yourself.

"That she's _yours_!" Quinn gasps, and you feel broken all over again. Broken because everything's Brittany's fault, and it didn't have to be like this in the first place.

"Yep. I'm a mother of a freaking five-year-old, and I had no idea. No _fucking _idea, Quinn," your tone resembles the one you took last night with Brittany.

You're not nearly as angry as you were, but you're positive that if you don't keep yourself in check, you may fall off the edge again.

"So, what's she like?" The question catches you off guard, and Quinn's curiosity infuriates you a little, but then you think about answering her question and your anger falters instantly.

Because you can't possibly be angry with that little girl, especially when she's so extremely perfect in every way, and so completely helpless here. She's a walking miracle, and you already have such strong feelings for her even though you barely know anything about her. It's like a part of your heart that you didn't realize you even had just fell in love for the first time.

You helped _create _her, and it makes you so happy that you could cry.

"She's perfect," you exhale, smiling at the thought.

Quinn stays quiet, and you pretend like the drops of water falling down your cheeks aren't tears.

"I didn't know, Santana," Quinn eventually admits. "You have to know that I would have told you… had I known. But I had no idea," she says, and you truly believe her.

"I know," you reply, sniffling.

"I can't believe that _she_ never told you, though. You had every right to know, even if you weren't going to be together as a couple. You have every right to that child; you do realize that, right?" Quinn blurts out.

And you agree with her completely, but you have absolutely no idea how to proceed from here. With the way you left things, you're not sure if it would be a good idea to show up unannounced at their house again. You know you're going to have to talk to Brittany eventually, but you don't know how to go about actually doing it. Maybe you should just call her and ask if you can meet up somewhere neutral for you both—somewhere where you won't feel like you don't belong.

"Do you think I could get Brittany's number from you?" you ask, deciding that this is as involved as Quinn needs to be in this situation. At this point, if you can't do anything for yourself, you're definitely not suitable to be any sort of parent-figure.

"Yeah, sure. Just hang on a moment, it's in the other room."

You wait until Quinn finds it and then reads it to you over the phone. You write it down on a ripped-off piece of your lunch bag and then stuff it into your pants.

You take a couple of bites from your sandwich while Quinn rambles on about custody laws and her sister's children and where she goes to buy the best toys now days. You really appreciate her trying to help, but you're sure you know more about those custody laws than she does considering you went to law school and she didn't. And even though you don't shop at Toys "R" Us regularly, you're pretty confident that you can still pick out a decent toy if you really want to.

But Quinn's being nice, which is not always the case, so you let her talk until you've finished your entire lunch and you're starting to get cold sitting outside.

"I've got to go, Q," you eventually say, even though you really have another fifteen minutes until your lunch break is over.

"Oh… okay," she sounds disappointed that you don't want to listen to her talk anymore. You feel sorry for her because you understand what it's like to be around Rachel a lot, and you're sure that Quinn hardly ever gets a word in anymore. But you don't think you can take another moment of her rambling. So you apologize and eventually hang up before heading back inside to get back to work.

You think that it's maybe the only thing that can keep you distracted from the piece of paper stuck in your front pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, thanks so much for all the support. Keep it coming!** **And in case any of you were wondering, Brittana is endgame and will always be endgame in my stories, but it's going to take a bit of work and a lot of faith to get to that point, so stick with me and enjoy the ride.**

**I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

* * *

When you get home later that evening, you have ten unanswered text messages from Rachel and a headache worse than any painful hangover you can remember. Your palms are sweaty and your skin feels like pins and needles all over as you hold your cell phone in your hand and stare at the lit screen.

A small piece of brown paper rests on the mahogany coffee table in front of you with numbers scribbled on it in messy pen. You've been reading them over and over again so many times that your head feels like it's going to explode or you're going to vomit everywhere.

Just thinking about talking to Brittany is making you so sick, and that hurts you more than your intense headache. You don't know if you possess the restraint or control to have a calm and adult conversation with her without throwing your phone onto the floor in rage. And you really like your phone…

But then you remember that you don't have all the time in the world to get yourself to that point where you're not still furious, because Brittany's getting married in five days and for some reason, her wedding seems like a finish line—the end. Like once it gets here and passes, you'll either be okay and totally ready to move on with your life or so completely heartbroken that you might relapse into that pathetic desolate place that your mind knows so well but you've tried your damnedest to forget.

You're praying to god and anyone else who's listening that it's the former.

So you take the tiny piece of paper and type out the numbers onto the dial, your fingers shaking with both nerves and anger, and then you take a deep breath before bringing the phone to your ear. The time between each ring seems to drag on forever, and you don't realize that you've been holding your breath until you start to feel a little light headed and then suddenly gasp.

"Hello?" you hear Brittany's voice and you relax a little, surprisingly. You're a little relieved that it wasn't her fiancé who picked up instead.

"Hi, Brittany," you say as calmly as you can. You're hoping that she doesn't catch the resentment still present in your voice.

"Hi, Santana," she sounds so innocent and shy, and you can feel yourself scooting closer and closer to that edge because it's so not fair.

You scratch your brow and take a couple more breaths before continuing.

"I think we should meet up and talk. I don't want to get in a fight with you, so somewhere public would probably be smartest. And the sooner we do it, the better. I know you're really busy with your wedding and all, but I don't think this can wait."

The following pause is long and uncomfortable, and you're so impatient that your right leg's beginning to shake up and down, and you're chewing on your bottom lip until you've drawn blood.

You wonder what she's thinking, because there really shouldn't be much thought to her response. It's really quite simple: _Yes, Santana, we should definitely talk._ _I was lacking all common and rational sense when I decided to keep our child from you. It was totally unfair to you and completely irresponsible, and now I want to make it right._

See? Really simple.

But all she gives you is a cautious, "Okay," and you shake your head back and forth in annoyance.

You ask her when it's most convenient for her—because you're trying to make this as easy as possible—and she tells you that she has tomorrow morning free. She recommends this little park down the street from her house because she can't get a babysitter for Lilly on such short notice and Lilly really likes the park. You tell her that it's perfect before saying goodbye and hanging up rather quickly.

You love Brittany to death, and you know that will never change, but you're still so completely furious with her that it's going to take a lot on your part to actually be okay with all of this.

And you're so far from that acceptance that it's really starting to scare you.

* * *

You eat dinner alone, throw back a couple of beers—nothing like you consumed last night—and settle onto your couch to watch some mindless television.

You decide to text Rachel back because you've gotten five more texts from her since you talked to Brittany, and you know she won't leave you alone until you respond.

_Hey Rachel, everything's fine. U don't need to worry. _

You get a message back almost the second after you sent yours. You roll your eyes because she's the most obnoxiously persistent person you've ever met.

_Quinn told me what happened, and I just wanted to let you know that I'm on your side one hundred percent. What Brittany did was absolutely horrible, and you deserve so much better. If you need anything, just let us know._

At least she's being comforting and understanding. Her words make you feel a little better considering the conversation you had with Brittany earlier.

The way Brittany spoke to you makes you think that she's_ really_ hesitant to let you back in. That she maybe still doesn't want to give you that opportunity.

And she may have _never_ given you the chance to get to know your daughter if you hadn't shown up like you did. And you really resent her for that.

But then you have to force yourself to remember what she probably thinks of you still—even after five years—and everything you said to her when she last saw you, half a decade ago. You're trying to find that perspective for yourself, but it's really challenging when you can't recall all the lies you told her just so she would hate_ you_. You have to think about how much your bullshit hurt her too.

And though you still know that she was wrong, you're trying to understand how tough this is for her too. You don't know what she was going through. You don't know enough to really force all blame onto her, because you understand that you're at fault here too. It was your words that caused this mess.

You feel more defeated than angry when you think about it.

You feel deeply and bitterly _hurt_.

* * *

You're up at the crack of dawn for the first time since you were a teenager getting ready for school. You're mind's blazing, and you can't stop the jitters crawling up your body as you lay in bed with your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

And even though you totally knowyou shouldn't let your mind go there—that this is probably the absolute _worst_ time to think about Brittany in any compromising manner and that you're beginning to embark into _extremely _dangerous territory—you're trying your freaking hardest to remember when your daughter could have possibly been conceived. You feel like that's something you should be able to look back on and remember. Because even if Brittany hates you now, you don't want any of those feelings to be associated with the little girl that you helped create. The little girl that you already feel so completely connected to.

And you guess it's a good thing that you and Brittany weren't all that intimate in the last couple months of your relationship because you'd have dozens upon dozens of times to choose from if that wasn't the case.

Because you can remember the time of year and what you were doing that day. You can remember that you weren't having one of your angry or pouty spells and that your self-esteem wasn't hurting as much as it usually did.

Because you can remember coming home from your second job at the bar fifteen blocks from your apartment, and feeling okay because you hadn't spilled any drinks or broken any glasses that night. And Brittany was waiting up for you with a gentle smile and kindly sincere eyes. And you felt in love again, even if it was just for a couple of hours.

Because you can remember how it felt making love to Brittany, and how there was nothing that ever made you feel as close to her. There was never anything that made you feel more loved and cherished.

And even though you're really surprised that you can remember it at all, you're even more satisfied that it happened the way it did. You wouldn't want it any other way.

You don't realize that you're crying until your face starts to get cold from the fan spinning over your now-wet face. So you drag the back of your hand across your cheeks and sniffle a couple of times to get yourself back in check, before sitting up and stretching out your stiff limbs.

Even though you're awake so early, you think that you actually feel pretty well rested for the first time in weeks as you put on a pair of jeans and a NYU sweatshirt and go through your morning routine.

You're both really nervous and also kind of excited about today. Now that you know Lilly is your daughter, you can't wait to watch her run and play and laugh as you try and find little pieces of yourself in her—even if she's almost an exact mold of Brittany physically.

But then you're also nervous about what Brittany's going to tell you and what your reaction is going to be. You want to make it absolutely clear to her that you're going to do everything in your power to be a part of Lilly's life now. You missed so many things—things that you'll never get back no matter what you say to Brittany today—but you're willing to be a mother now. Even if you're scared shitless and you have no freaking clue how to be that person for Lilly. You know now that you want that more than anything. You want the chance to _know_ your child.

Brittany owes you that.

You lounge around your apartment until eight, watching television and drinking so much coffee that you think you can feel the tips of your hair. You go through a packet of papers that your partner, Jake, told you to look over before you get really antsy and have to set them aside.

And then you spend an hour organizing your kitchen and vacuuming your entire apartment because you can't remember the last time you actually cleaned, and now that you're going to be a mom you have to be much more conscientious about stuff like that.

It's 9:45 when Brittany finally calls you, and you sigh because—well, _finally_.

"Hey," you exhale with relief. You're feeling much better today: still mad, but a little more understanding and willing to listen.

"Hey," she responds, a bit happier sounding as well. "We're heading to the park at 10:30 if you want to meet us then."

You tell her you'll be there and that you'll see her soon, before she hangs up.

You're on your way out the door only minutes later.

The ride to the park gives you a little time to relax and calm down, but it's only about ten minutes away, so you don't have_ that_ much time.

When you pull into the parking lot—there's only a handful of other cars there—it's only 10:00, and you realize that you now have a half hour to psych yourself out all over again.

You're clearly not thinking straight.

So you go over what you want to tell Brittany in your head, trying your absolute best to find the right words in your mind so you don't come across as bitter and resentful as you were on Monday. You want to act like an adult here.

There are so many things you need to ask, explain and try to understand. There are years worth of built up feelings, lies, and truths, and you're sure that a couple hours at the park won't get you to that point of acceptance. You don't know if you will be able to forgive Brittany any time soon, but you're going to learn how to try.

Before you know it, a black Range Rover is pulling into the space three spots down from you, and you notice that the clock on your dashboard now reads 10:32.

You turn off your car and reach for your jacket resting in the passenger seat before unlocking the door and stepping out into the cool November air.

You look over to see Brittany's back in the car door as she unbuckles Lilly from the booster seat in the backseat. You begin to feel those nerves creep up again and your stomach turn queasy.

After Brittany picks Lilly up and places her on the ground, handing her a pair of bright magenta gloves to put on her hands, you begin walking towards them. Your heart's racing with each step.

Lilly sees you first, and you don't think you've ever felt so immediately enamored by anything or anyone in your entire life, as her face turns up into a bright smile and her eyes light up into a piercing shade of blue. You don't think you'll ever want to look away.

"Hi, Lilly," you greet, putting your best smile forward. Lilly tugs on Brittany's jean-covered leg.

"Momma, look who it is," she says, pointing back at you excitedly and surprised.

Brittany turns round instantly, and you watch her smile fade into an expression similar to yours: nervous out of your goddamn freaking mind.

"Hey," you say, your hands fidgeting at your zipper on your coat.

Brittany's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white long sleeve shirt underneath a navy blue vest. Her hair's up in a messy bun and she has on a pair of loop earrings and a beautiful silver necklace with a shimmering sapphire stone at her chest. She looks flawless—even more beautiful than you remember, and you gulp so loudly that you think she hears you and smirks.

Even your anger can't hide your attraction to her. She will always make you a little nervous.

"Hi, Santana," she says and smiles—_actually_ smiles that familiar smile and you feel yourself relax a little bit.

"Hi, Santana," you hear Lilly squeak in her adorable high-pitched voice. You feel your heart flutter at the sound of your name on her lips—your daughter.

"Are you excited for the park?" you ask, reading every little piece of her reaction that you can.

She just shrugs her shoulders and turns to look back up at Brittany, whose eyes are intent on you and nothing else. You wonder what both of them are thinking.

"Well, let's head down to the playground, hmm? What do you say?" You offer out a hand as you search for permission in Brittany's eyes. You don't find anything hesitant in her gaze, so you assume that you're good to go.

Lilly nods and then walks forward to take your hand. You wonder if Lilly knows anything about you, other than the fact that you know her mommy. You hate the idea of having to start from scratch, but you don't have much of a choice, do you?

During the entire walk down the gravel pathway to the playground you focus on the sound of two other sets of feet walking next to you. You think you like the way it sounds.

* * *

"I wanted to apologize for the way I showed up on Monday night. It wasn't fair to you or your family, and I'm sorry," you start off.

You and Brittany are sitting on a wooden bench about fifteen feet from the playground. Both of you are watching Lilly play with another little girl who doesn't look much older than her—much bigger, but not much older.

Besides the other kid, her dad, and a few passing bicyclists, there aren't many people around. You're kind of happy about the little bit of privacy that you and Brittany can have.

"Don't apologize, Santana." Brittany's shaking her head at you and biting her lip as her eyes stay fixed on Lilly. She looks so deep in thought, and you don't think you've ever seen that type of concentration on her face.

"There are a lot of things that you should apologize for… but that's not one of them," she finishes, disappointment and pain evident in her tone and words.

If you didn't totally agree with the first part of that statement, you might be starting to get really, _really_ mad. But you do; you know she's right.

You know that you have _a lot _of things to be sorry for, but so does Brittany, and if she thinks that she can get away without a proper apology to _you_, you're not sure that you'll be able to work things out with her. On anylevel.

It seems like you get your request answered quicker than you were intending or hoping for.

"_I_ owe you a huge, ginormous, exponentially massive sorry, Santana."

You watch her face scrunch up, like this is going to be really painful for her to say. She takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I've been thinking about what you said Monday night, and how all this must be hurting you. I _know_ that I took such precious time from you and Lilly. I can't even express how freaking sorry I am for taking that. And… I knew that I was wrong—Oh, _god_ I knew it," her eyes are on you, tears brimming, and you're holding your breath, waiting for her next words.

The following pause is tense and uncomfortable, but you can't move your gaze from Brittany's angry and sad eyes. They tear at your heart in ways you can't even describe.

"But I hated you," she grits her teeth and then frowns. "I loved you so, so much… but I hated _everything_ about you that night."

And you can still picture her face when you strolled into your apartment, one-too-many drinks in your system, ready to finally give up and sacrifice the only thing that you had left. You can remember how she froze cold and quiet as you lied and spewed the most horrible words you could come up with at her, knowing that it was the only way she would be able to move on.

Knowing that it was the only way to make her leave you.

"And I think somewhere inside of me, I was using our d-daughter…" you watch as she chokes back a sob and pulls her hands to her face to hide the tears from you, like she doesn't deserve them.

You put a hand on her back instinctually, and you feel her freeze at your touch before she wipes away the water from her cheeks. She looks back into your eyes with such remorse that it stuns you for a moment.

"Th-that I was using our daughter as a way to get back at you," she winces at her own words and you look away, dropping your hand from its place on her back.

It's definitely tough to hear, but you truly believe that Brittany's being absolutely sincere in her words.

"And there were _so_ many times that I wanted to call you—so many, but then I heard from Quinn and Rachel that you were moving out of the city for a while, and I didn't know what to do. If you were gone, how were you supposed to help me raise a child? I didn't know what you were doing—if you were moving on with your life and starting over somewhere new. I didn't think that you wanted anything to do with me anymore," Brittany explains as you take in her hurtful words.

You were going off to law school at UCLA, trying to get your shit together—_that's _what you were doing. And you were doing all of it for her. You wanted to feel like you deserved to be with someone like Brittany for the rest of your life.

You wanted to feel worthy.

And no amount of scrutiny on Brittany's part is ever going to take that away from you.

"I knew it was wrong, but I was a coward for not wanting to deal with my feelings for you. Because… it took me a _long_ time to get over you, Santana." She looks deep into you at those words, like there's some great secret behind them, and you shiver.

"And then my life got crazy and busy, and I was learning to live without you. I found that I didn't need you like I thought I did, and that felt empowering. To know that I didn't need to rely on you anymore for reassurance was…" she looks away because she knows it stings you. "It was good for me."

Even though it hurts—it hurts so _fucking _much—you don't think you've ever understood her better.

Neither of you talk for the next few minutes as you let her words linger in the air and fully sink in. You're trying your hardest to understand where she's coming from. But there's this struggle going on inside of you and you're not sure who's winning.

Because on the one hand, you have so much love for Brittany that a very small part of you kind of wants to say: _fine, okay; I understand, and I forgive you_. But then there's the part of you that's still so completely infuriated that when you watch the little girl swinging across the monkey bars right in front of you, all you feel is rage towards Brittany.

Intense, passionate, unadulterated rage. It burns your skin—that's how mad you feel.

You think the balance of the two is the only thing keeping you calm right now, like they're offsetting the opposite's effects on your emotions.

"I want you to have a relationship with her," Brittany says at last, her words are soft and kind. "Lilly deserves that. You deserve that."

Relief washes through your system and you exhale.

"Thank you."

You're really impressed by how honest and fair Brittany is being with you today, especially when she's had such a small amount of time to prepare herself for these emotions.

Or maybe she started getting ready for this conversation the moment Lilly was born.

"And what about Rob?" you ask, unwilling to say the word _fiancé_ aloud, but too curious to avoid the question altogether.

"Rob…" Brittany pauses to think as her eyes flit up to the sky and then find yours seconds later. "He knows that he's not Lilly's father, and even though he's been a part of her life for over a year now, I've tried to make that very clear to her as well."

"And does he know that I'm…" it's still hard to think the words, let alone say them aloud.

Brittany's quick to fill in the blank for you. "He's asked before, but I've never felt like it was his business, so no, he doesn't know. He knew that we dated for a long time, and he's seen your picture before, but he doesn't know that you're Lilly's other mother."

Another sigh of relief leaves your lips, and you don't miss Brittany's subtle smile at your reaction.

"I want you to know that I'm listening to what you're saying and trying my _best_ to understand. I'm not doing this for you or me or anyone else other than that little girl over there. I'm by no means anywhere near okay with this whole situation, but I want you to know that I'm trying, okay?" You want to make this clear to her. "I'm going to be in her life now; I want that more than anything."

Brittany nods her head in agreement.

"Okay?" you ask.

"Okay," and Brittany's smile warms something inside you again.

* * *

You don't know how much time passes after that, but you eventually start to feel like it's your turn to apologize, but you're not exactly sure _how_ honest you should be. You don't know how much Brittany would really want to know—you think it might cause a lot of problems that you have to take into consideration now.

Maybe you were willing to bring them up when it was just Brittany and her fiancé, who you didn't know and certainly didn't care to know. But now—now, you're not as willing to take any sort of risk. Not when there's a child to think about—_your_ child.

Brittany's built a life for Lilly with her fiancé, and they're comfortable and happy. And as much as it's going to kill you not to tell the truth, you can't take that away from your daughter. You can't throw her life through a tailspin for your own selfish reasons. You have to do what's best for Lilly, even if it means giving up more than you really care to. Even if it means sacrificing your only chance at love.

So you take a deep breath, the chosen words running through your mind, ready to be let out.

"I'm sorry for the things I told you that night," you start.

Brittany looks startled when the words leave your mouth.

"I was mad and angry with myself, and I shouldn't have lashed out the way I did. You deserved better, and I should have told you how I was feeling sooner. I should have told you what was going on instead of dragging it out and prolonging the inevitable."

You meet Brittany's eyes and you can see the pain there, still reminiscent of that day. You can clearly see the hurt and heartbreak that you inflicted on her with your lies.

"I should have told you that I wasn't in love with you anymore, long before that night. And I know that now…" you're trying to force the words out, but they're so much tougher to say than you could have ever imagined. "I know I was wrong, and I'm so sorry."

You look away from her because it hurts too much, and your eyes find the ground—where you believe they rightfully belong in this moment. You feel filthy with your lies now, but it's only a fraction of the disgust you felt five years ago.

You're really nervous for Brittany's response because you don't want to make her more upset than she already is.

But all she says is, "I forgive you, Santana" with absolute sincerity in her voice, and you don't know what to feel. You look up to see her sad and longing eyes.

"It's just like the song, remember? 'I can't make you love me if you don't'," she says. You feel like crying.

And she tells you, "But that's okay."

* * *

You spend the rest of the morning hanging out with Lilly on the jungle gym and swings, while she talks her head off at you, and Brittany watches from a distance, smirking knowingly.

You didn't know little five-year-olds could talk so much.

She tells you about her teacher at school, and how if you're really good on Fridays she'll sometimes let you sneak a piece of candy from the stash in the principal's office.

She tells you about her favorite movie and how she watched it every day for an entire month this year, and now she knows all the words to the entire thing.

She tells you about her best friend Maggie Elizabeth Jenkins, and how they're going to start taking soccer lessons once it gets warm again so that they can beat all the boys at recess next year.

She tells you about her pet rabbit named Arthur, who gets loose around her house sometimes and ends up leaving a poopy mess everywhere, which Mommy usually forces Robbie to clean up. (Lilly thinks its funny, and so do you.)

But most of all, she tells you about her Mommy and how she got to see her dance in a funny costume on one of the biggest stages in the entire universe last year. And how Mommy gives her weekly trips to the ice cream store in the summer and the candy store in the winter if she can keep her bed made and her room clean for the entire week.

She tells you about Mommy's dance studio and all the pretty people that come to see her every day—Mommy's the most popular person Lilly knows.

And then when she tells you that she's tired of the swings because she's kinda cold and thirsty, she asks if you're going to come back and see her again tomorrow.

You tell her you wouldn't miss it for the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait. I want to be able to update every day, but it's turning out to be much harder than I thought. I should have the next chapter out sometime this weekend, though. **

**Thanks again for all the support; it really, truly helps keep me motivated to write. So,**** I hope you enjoy the chapter, and sorry for any mistakes!**

**I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

* * *

While Lilly hops up into the backseat of Brittany's car and buckles herself in, you can't wipe the brilliant smile from your face.

You think in the past three hours, your heart's grown about three sizes bigger, and now it feels almost too heavy inside your chest. You never want this feeling to go away.

"When can I see her again?" you ask as soon as Brittany closes the door behind her and turns towards you.

"I'm pretty busy tomorrow, but Lilly and I have lunch plans at twelve if you want to join us. She's out of school until December, so she doesn't have a lot going on this week or next. And I'm sure she'll want to see you. She really likes you."

You can feel your face brighten, as your smile grows even bigger at her statement. "You really think so?"

"I really think so," and her eyes shine with that familiar and loving warmth that melts your heart. It's something that only Brittany can make you feel. It leaves you breathless and nervous, and a bunch of other emotions squashed up into a mess of feelings.

"Where should I meet you guys?"

Brittany opens the front door, starting up the car and turning on the heat.

"Why don't you come over to our house at eleven-thirty, and we can ride together."

You don't hesitate to accept, knowing you would take any opportunity to see Lilly again. "Sounds good," you respond and take a couple of footsteps back as you watch Brittany get into the car.

"Goodbye, Santana," she says, her eyes so full of that same gentleness.

It makes your heart ache because you've missed her so much. And even though you're still working on forgiving her for _breaking_ your heart, you don't think you've ever loved Brittany more. Knowing that she's the mother of your child has somehow made her a thousand times more attractive to you. Physically, mentally, and emotionally more attractive.

You shake your head out of those thoughts, knowing that you shouldn't be thinking them, before waving goodbye. "See you tomorrow," and you watch as she closes the door and backs out of the parking lot, heading back to her _real _life. One that you're not really a part of anymore.

But as you stumble back towards your car, you take a deep breath and allow a feeling of accomplishment to settle into your system. Because today could have gone much, _much _worse, but you managed to not screw anything up. And you feel like celebrating that.

* * *

You have to go back to your office and work late because you took the morning off, and you have papers piling up like garbage all over your desk. Your partner, Jake, gives you a questioning glare when you walk in at two and the biggest smile your sure he's ever seen is plastered across your face.

"Good morning?" he laughs, his feet propped up on his desk and his face buried within a box of take-out Chinese food. The smell of Lo Mein and Teriyaki chicken fills the entire floor and makes your mouth water because you haven't had lunch yet, and you're kind of hungry.

You just roll your eyes and shake your head at him. "None of your business, you nosy pig," you answer jokingly.

You've known Jake since freshman year at UCLA, and you've always gotten along really well. You argue like best friends and pick on each other like siblings, but you love each other anyways. He's a couple of years older than you—he had already graduated once you started law school—but he saw the potential in you before anyone else. Before _you _even saw it in yourself.

After Brittany left, you had taken a long and honest look at yourself and decided that you weren't going to live your life, like you were frozen and broken until the day you died. So you thought a lot about what your other passions were—interests that didn't involve music—and the things you had once been good at and proud of.

You decided that if you _hadn't_ found your passion for music and singing while at NYU, you could have considered becoming a lawyer or something like that after graduating. You liked the theory behind it; you liked the logic and the arguing. You liked getting to be right.

So you spent about six months with your head in a bunch of books, practicing and going over as much as you could cram into your brain. And then you took the LSAT, and you surprised yourself, because you didn't suck after all—you didn't suck in the slightest. So you decided to apply to a couple of law schools on a whim, thinking that you had nothing left to lose, and this was your best shot at making something of your life.

When an acceptance letter came, and you stared at it for about five hours straight, you deduced that you were either the luckiest person on the planet—for the first time in your life—or it was some sort of mistake.

But even if it was, you weren't going to miss out on an incredibly amazing opportunity like that. So you packed your bags and took the first flight out of the city, barely leaving with any sort of goodbye to your best friends. And you started over new. It was refreshing and healing, and you ended up finding something just as fulfilling as a career in music.

And _boy _were you good. It took a couple of years of intense confidence building and hours upon hours of studying, but you were quite impressive. People were impressed; professors were impressed.

And that's how you met Jake; one of your favorite professors introduced the two of you at an event at the school one evening, and you two just hit it off. He liked your "I don't give a shit" attitude, and you liked his weird sense of humor. You've been friends ever since.

Four years passed faster than you ever thought possible, and then you were standing at the podium getting ready to give your valediction, and you realized that you had done it. That you had actually succeeded at something. That fate hadn't screwed you over and taken everything from you. That you were going to be a lawyer, and so proud of it.

Unlike a lot of your fellow students, a job was waiting for you as soon as you left, as well as a fat check to pay off any and all student debt. You were joining this large law firm back here in New York and partnering up with Jake to create a brand new branch of the business.

You had weekly paychecks coming in for the first time in your life, and you were actually doing work that you were proud of—not taking orders for drinks or wiping down dirty tables at run-down coffee shops.

You were finally starting to think that you were ready for that special someone to come into your life. Actually, you were ready for _Brittany_ to come back into your life, so that you could tell her that you loved her and never stopped.

But you had walked into Quinn and Rachel's kitchen and found that wedding invitation on the fridge, and you froze. You froze and you fell into that little bit of a slump again, where you were just trying to get by. Because you should have known that Brittany would move on and get over you. You should have known, but you were naïve.

Jake sits up in his seat to watch you as you plop onto your chair across from him. His head is cocked to the side, and his face is scrunched up like he's interpreting and reading your expression, figuring out why you're so happy, even if he's totally wrong.

"Oh my god, you totally got laid last night!" he points his finger at you in accusation and laughs.

You roll your eyes at his crassness.

"I wish," you mumble and watch as he slumps back into his chair in defeat and goes back to eating his chicken. You reach forward to grab one of the small white take-out boxes, managing to get past his hand swatting you away.

"You're no fun," he pouts as you lean back into your seat and dunk the chopsticks into the small white box.

"No, I'm just hungry," you smile, mocking him.

He stares at you while you eat and unpack your bag and try to somehow organize your cluttered mess of a desk. You used to have a system to your chaos, but now it just seems like chaos.

"No, seriously Santana. When was the last time you had a decent lay?" he asks, likes he's _actually _concerned.

"Sorry Jake, but you're not really my type," you answer playfully. You know he wasn't insinuating anything close to an offer, but you couldn't help it. You like picking on him.

He almost chokes on his food as he throws his arms up in front of his face. "No, no, no," he coughs and takes a few breaths as his arms continue to wave furiously. "I wasn't offering or anything—I mean, not like you're not an attractive woman and all, because you are. It's just that we're really good friends, and that would be… weird—yeah, just _really_ weird." He stops and you watch as his face turns up into concentration and consideration, and you freeze because you hope he isn't thinking what you think he's thinking.

"I mean, maybe if we weren't like coworkers—or something. Like, I'd totally sleep with you if we didn't know each other…" he trails off and you furrow your eyebrows at him in confusion. Did he just say that?

"That's not what I meant," he finally realizes, once the reality of his words sink in. He turns this cute shade of red under your stare and you shake your head, trying to get that image out of your brain.

"I'm not so sure you'd like what I have to offer," you awkwardly explain, your eyebrows raised and your face still contorted in disgust. You're trying to be as vague as possible and still get your point across.

Jake knows that you've dated girls, and that you're a lesbian. But he doesn't know anything about the dick hiding between your legs. You think that might make things mighty awkward between you two if he ever found out. Even more awkward than right now.

But he doesn't seem to comprehend the hint that you just gave him.

"Yeah, whatever," he scratches his head and puts his food down on his desk before standing up. "I'm going to head to see Winston, is there anything you need me to ask him?"

You just shake your head and turn back to your desk, hoping to forget that you actually just had that conversation.

"Alright, so I'll just… go," and then you watch as Jake runs off like a little boy who has to take a piss or something. He probably won't be back anytime soon.

At least you'll have some quiet time with no distractions while you try and get caught up with your work.

* * *

When you get home at eight later that evening, all you want to do is blow off some steam, because you've been sitting in a chair for the past six hours, and you need to get up and do something or you'll go crazy.

You decide to call Quinn because she's usually up for spending the night out, considering she'd most likely be awake anyways.

"Yeah, why don't we head to that new bar that I was telling you about last weekend. I think there's a band that plays there on weeknights, and I heard from a friend that they're really good. Just let me tell Rachel and I'll be by to pick you up?" Quinn tells you as you open your closet to flip through some outfits.

"Yeah, see you then," you answer and then hang up, throwing your phone on the bed before reaching for this short, little black dress that you know makes you look incredible. Why not?

Thirty minutes later, your hair is curled and your makeup looks flawless, and you've slipped into that tight, little black dress that seems to fit you perfectly and accentuate all your curves in all the right places. You've put your new diamond earrings in—a gift from Jake for your twenty-ninth birthday—and you take a long look at yourself in the mirror. You laugh aloud when you think that you _so _don't look like a mom. And even if you did, you'd look like that smookin' hot mom that everyone always wishes they had.

You wouldn't usually get this dolled up on a weeknight anyways, but for some reason you feel like going all out. Maybe Jake's observation today got to you a little.

Because it's really kind of embarrassing how long it's been since you had sex. And even more embarrassing when you consider how long it's been since you had _good _sex. In fact, you can't remember having _any _decent sex in the past five years. Since Brittany.

But you guess all sex would pale in comparison to Brittany. Because sex with Brittany was just _so_... well, pretty fucking incredible.

You consider for a second that maybe you _should_ attempt to start up some sort of relationship with another woman, trying hard to ignore the fact that your heart doesn't like that idea one bit. But maybe that's all you need to get over this hump and cross that bridge towards a _friendship _with her. Maybe a decent distraction will help you get over Brittany.

You know you're probably being delusional, but… maybe.

When Quinn finally shows up on your doorstep at a quarter 'til nine, her eyes are instantly blown wide at the sight of you.

Quinn's dressed in a simple purple and blue floral dress, while you're towering over her in four-inch heels and a rather revealing dress to match. Your cleavage is practically hanging out and staring her right in the face. You smirk while she looks you up and down _several _times.

"Who're _you_ trying to impress?" she laughs, her eyebrows raised and her eyes still incredibly curious.

You grab your jacket from the coat closet and lock the door behind you on your way out.

"No one in particular. Just thought I'd do something a little different," you shrug your shoulders and see Quinn's unconvinced smirk out of the corner of your eye.

"Whatever, as long as you don't embarrass me, you're welcome to wear as short a dress as you want," she says sarcastically. And you roll your eyes before heading towards the elevator at the end of your hall and then making your way out of the lobby and to Quinn's car outside.

You spend the fifteen-minute car ride to the bar telling Quinn about your morning. She asks about Lilly, and you tell her as much as you can remember, not sparing her a single detail.

"She's not really anything like me, Quinn. She looks, and acts, and sounds almost exactly like Britt… but I think I can see myself in her somewhere. I don't know what it is exactly, but I feel like she's got some of me in her. She's so beautiful and smart, and just... amazing." That same smile that you were sporting earlier appears on your face again.

Quinn shoots you a surprised look as you finish. She's never seen you talk so adamantly about anything before.

"I'm glad that you're getting to know her. I'm glad that Brittany's actually thinking about her daughter's best interest right now and not what _she _wants. I can't imagine how angry you must be with her, but I know that you're going to be an amazing mother, Santana."

And Quinn _actually _sounds impressed. She actually sounds proud of you for stepping up into this role so quickly, without any hesitation. And just knowing that Quinn believes in you makes you feel so much better.

"I hope so, because I'm already so in love with that little girl, and I don't think I could handle it if I never got to see her again."

"You have nothing to worry about, Santana," and Quinn places a comforting and supportive hand on your shoulder.

You hope she's right.

* * *

When you arrive at the bar, you can already hear the music from outside. The band sounds good, and _you're_ feeling good. It may just be the perfect night to get lucky.

But as soon as you open the door and feel the warm air wash over you like a contradicting, soothing wave of contentment, your heart practically stops. And you take back that last thought because—well, never mind _luck_.

"Is that?" Quinn's voice rings out loud and clear behind your ears as you both stand at the entrance, with your eyes fixed forwards.

"Brittany's fiancé? Yeah…" you're startled more than anything else. And a little bit confused and angry. But as you listen to the man's voice and the beautifully stunning melodies coming from his guitar, you think maybe you're a little bit impressed as well.

"And Brittany, too."

You catch a streak of blonde hair near the bar, and then you find her face. She's talking to a couple of people who you don't recognize, but she doesn't see you or Quinn.

"Do you want to leave?" Quinn asks you seconds later, like she knows what your reaction to this whole run-in is going to mean for the night.

But you take a moment to let yourself calm down and take a few steady, deep breaths. You try to get your heart to stop doing that jumpy thing in your chest every time you think Brittany's about to look your way. And you attempt to ignore that burning in your lungs and stomach because _this _is going to end up being a constant occurrence now that you're back in Brittany's life for good. You're going to have to get used to awkward meetings with her and Rob, and you can't start off by running away.

"No, it's fine. Might as well," and you know Quinn's gawking at you behind your back as you continue forward into the crowded bar.

You choose a seat at a table sort of near where Brittany's sitting towards the back of the bar. You don't want to seem creepy or anything, but you're a little too intrigued for your own good, and this seat will make for optimum spying.

Once Quinn sits down, you take your coat off and hang it behind you on the chair. You're sure that Quinn's watching your nervous, shaking hands the whole time.

A tall blonde waitress in a black tee and jeans finds you almost instantly. She's incredibly good-looking—very similar to Brittany in her build and color—but for some reason, you can't find her attractive.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asks, smirking at you like she knows something you don't. You feel a little uncomfortable under her stare.

"Yeah, I'll have a vodka tonic," you say, and then wait for Quinn to decide that she wants a beer and give her order.

You should probably be feeling really good about yourself because it seems that the waitress hasn't been able to take your eyes off of you since she came over, but all you can feel is really, _really _annoyed. So you turn to look over your shoulder and back towards Brittany's table.

She's talking with a taller, darker man who looks about your age. He's got jet-black hair, and a really pointy nose and awkward smile, but he's wearing an impressive suit—an _expensive _suit.

The other person at the table is a woman who looks much older—maybe in her late fifties or early sixties. She's even more impressive with her large stone earrings and Chanel handbag resting in front of her on the tall, metal table. You catch the glimmer of her huge diamond ring when she moves her hand just a millimeter.

Since when did Brittany start hanging out with rich people?

You turn back to Quinn after that, your puzzled and annoyed expression very obvious. You think that Quinn's been following your gaze the entire time, because you can tell that she's wondering the same thing as you.

"So Brittany's like some sort of high-roller now, so what? She's still Britt. She's still the same girl who used to spend summers in our backyards eating watermelon and playing Marco Polo," Quinn reassures you, but it doesn't really help the uneasiness growing in your stomach.

After that, you finally take a few minutes to focus your attention on the music playing through the speakers all over the room. You may have been able to ignore it earlier, but now you can't turn away. Because, as much as you wish it wasn't true, you're completely blown away by how amazing they are. They're playing like this mix between soft rock and alternative folk, and you keep wincing because of how good they sound—like _really _freaking good. Especially Rob. They're playing their own original stuff, and he's singing like it's his last day on earth and this is his last gift to humanity.

"They're..." Quinn trails off as her eyes stare forward as well, and you can tell that she agrees with your silent opinion.

"Incredible," you finish and then bite your bottom lip because it somehow just makes everything ten times worse.

"I guess Britt likes the musicians, doesn't she?" Quinn points out, jokingly, and it stings a little because it reminds you that you don't have that piece of yourself anymore. That you lost that part of yourself, and now apparently Brittany's found it in someone else. Someone other than you.

By the time the waitress brings back your drinks, you're kind of annoyed because even though you keep looking in her direction, Brittany hasn't even noticed you once. She's still talking to that same man and woman, and you really just want her to look your way so that you don't feel so damn awkward anymore. Because right now you feel like you're intruding again, like you don't belong, and you don't like it one bit.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" the waitress asks, as her dark eyes trail down to the top of your dress. You definitely don't miss the double-meaning hidden beneath her words, but you sort of wish you had.

You just shake your head and say "no thanks" as politely as you can, without sounding overly friendly in any way.

Quinn's totally chuckling under her breath as the blonde waitress walks away disappointed.

"Do you think I should just go and say hello?" you finally ask Quinn after you've gotten halfway through your drink and Brittany still hasn't looked your way, even though your eyes have stayed glued on her the entire time.

"Maybe," Quinn acknowledges.

But as soon as the word leaves her mouth, Brittany just so happens to turn her head a _little _more to the right. And then her brilliant blue eyes lock onto yours and you gulp.

You're not quite sure you were _actually _ready for that, and now you're starting to get nervous again.

You watch as she quickly excuses herself from the table and then begins making her way towards you and Quinn. Her head stays directed towards the ground, like she doesn't want to _actually_ look at you until she gets to your side.

But then her whole body comes into full view and her hesitant eyes finally turn up to meet yours, and you feel your heart just drop inside your chest. Because Brittany looks _flawless_, and beautiful, and sexy as hell in this knee-length dark blue cocktail dress with these black heels that make her legs look _infinitely_ long, and you're not exactly sure you can handle this right now. Because—wow, just _wow. _

"Hey, Britt," Quinn offers when she finally reaches your table.

"Hi, Quinn," Brittany smiles politely, while you feel this intense heat creeping up your body under her piercing eyes.

"Hi, Santana," she says, and you feel yourself grin, stupidly.

"What are you guys doing here?" Brittany asks, definitely surprised to see you both.

And then her stare leaves your eyes and very _subtly_ drops down the full length of your body. You watch as her gaze _slightly_ catches at two very particular locations that leave you smirking at first, but then a little shocked and embarrassed when you feel a surprising stirring under the _lower _part of your dress. You're quick to clear your throat and start messing with the napkin on the table as a distraction, but you can't help feeling like you shouldn't have let that happen. Even if you have no control over how your body reacts to Brittany.

And you've completely forgotten her question by the time Quinn decides to answer for you. She's giving you that look like, _Hello? Earth to Santana._

You just slump further into your seat.

"We wanted to check out the new bar here, but we weren't expecting to run into you. We didn't even know your fiancé was a musician," Quinn explains, before taking a sip from her drink and looking up at you with a knowing and smirking expression. Like she knows exactly what just transpired in the last couple of seconds.

"Rob and his band have been playing here since the bar opened last month. He doesn't get to perform that often because he works a lot, but when he does, he really loves it." You watch as Brittany sends a proud and loving glance back in Rob's direction.

"They're really good, Britt. Like _really _good," Quinn says, and you nod your head in agreement.

"Yeah well, he's quite the humble soul, because I've been telling him that since the day we met, and he still doesn't believe me. I guess he's a bit of a perfectionist, too," she shrugs her shoulders and sighs.

While Brittany hangs around your table, the waitress brings you and Quinn back two more drinks. She doesn't bother with the flirting this time around, and you're really grateful.

You take a long sip of your drink before remembering that there's something important missing. Or rather someone, since both Brittany and Rob are here tonight, and you don't see a tiny little brunette girl running around the bar. Not like that would be okay in the first place.

"So where's Lilly tonight?" you finally ask, and you see Brittany's kind and warm smile appear as her name leaves your lips.

"She's at home with my dad," Brittany explains.

"Your dad's in New York?" you wonder aloud, a moment of complete stupidity washing over you. You should have known better.

"Yeah, for my—well, for my wedding," you watch as Brittany turns her eyes away from you at the mention of the upcoming nuptials. She looks nervous, like she didn't want to have to bring up the conversation of her wedding with you in the first place. You wonder why that is.

"Is your mom here, too?"

You watch as Brittany immediately tenses up at the mention of her mother, and you suddenly feel like you've said something you shouldn't have.

"No, my mother's… she's not really around that much anymore," she explains, her eyes darting about anxiously. And you know not to ask her any more questions.

But that doesn't stop you from _wondering_ what happened to her mom while you've been away. They used to be so close. You hope that she's still doing all right.

As the band starts up another slower and softer song, at least half of your second drink leaves the glass, flowing right into your throat and stomach. You can feel the buzz from the alcohol starting to burn through your nervousness. It's helping you relax a bit and relieve the incredible tenseness in your body.

"Hey, Britt? Who're those people you were talking to over there?" Quinn asks.

In the past few minutes, you've completely forgotten about the mysterious man and woman from across the room. You're thankful for Quinn's constant curiosity.

Brittany looks back to the table from before.

"Oh, that's Rob's older brother, John, and his mother. They wanted to come out and see Rob perform, so I offered to take them. I usually don't get to come and hear the band that often because I have to watch Lilly, but I thought I'd take the night off."

So Rob's family has a lot of money. At least you know Lilly will be financially taken care of for a while. Not that you can't support her financially.

Now that you think about it, you _want_ to be able to provide for your daughter in that way. So you tell yourself that you'll ask Brittany about it later. You want to do everything right; you don't want any shortcuts or excuses. You want to be the best you can for Lilly and for Brittany.

"They look like they're enjoying themselves," Quinn observes.

"I hope they are. Rob's brother wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make it to the wedding because he's been doing a lot of traveling, and he didn't know if he'd be back in the States in time. But we got really lucky, and he was able to come."

You're honestly glad that Brittany seems so happy, even if you have to keep reminding yourself that this is what you wanted for her. That you gave up your chance with her because you wanted her to have a great life. It just really sucks that it's not a great life with _you_.

And in the very next moment, when your gaze moves back towards Quinn, you just _know _she caught your pathetic, longing eyes on Brittany. Even if it was only for a second.

She's sipping from her drink and giving you this look that makes you uneasy in your stomach, because you realize she can read you better than anyone else.

And then you look to Brittany, who's _also _staring at you, and you think you might as well just go die in a hole because _damn,_ this is uncomfortable.

You feel relief wash through your system when Brittany finally breaks the tension. "Well… it was really nice getting to see you again, Quinn. And... I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Santana?"

"Sure, Britt," you answer, nodding your head while taking a few steady breaths to calm yourself down.

"It was nice to see you again, too."

And then Brittany's waving goodbye and walking back towards the other table. And with every step she takes, you feel your heartbeat speed up just a tad bit more. Because you're _really _dreading the next couple of minutes, and Quinn's stare is burning your skin. And you're not wearing nearly enough clothes to protect yourself from _that_.

"Oh. My. God." She starts, and you cringe.

"You're still in love with her, aren't you?" and Quinn sounds completely amazed as she gasps and gapes at you, her jaw practically hanging down to the table.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you shake your head and bring your drink to your lips and let the last of the alcohol burn your throat, hoping to cover up your lie.

But Quinn just hums knowingly and you feel pissed at her, even though you should have known she would figure it out once she saw you with Brittany.

"You can't be in love with her, Santana!" she whispers as loudly as she can at you, and you give her a warning glare.

"This is seriously, like messed up. You do realize that she's getting married in like four days, and that she lied to you for five years about your child. And that you practically don't even _know _each other anymo…"

"Shut up, Quinn!" you try and keep your voice as quiet as possible as you interrupt her, but it's kind of hard when she's telling you things that you know are true but don't want to hear, and it's only making you angrier.

"Look, I get it," you exhale and look at her with pleading eyes. "I hear what you're saying, and this is me _agreeing_ with you." You don't want her to think that you don't understand the ramifications if your feelings for Brittany ever became public knowledge.

"I _know _she's getting married, Q. I don't think I could forget if I tried," you hiss. "And I'm still mad at her for what she did to me _and _Lilly. And I know it's been five years, but…" you hesitate and let your eyes wander back towards Brittany across the room.

"I can't help how I feel. She's just… she's _Brittany_, Quinn," you shrug in defeat, and you hope she understands what you're trying to tell her.

"And just so you know, I don't plan on doing anything to mess up what she's created for herself and Lilly. I don't want to break apart the family that Lilly's grown comfortable with. And even though Brittany's told Lilly that Rob isn't her father, I can't help but feel like—I don't know—like she's grown used to him. That he fits somewhere in her life, even if I wish he didn't. And I can't take that from her, Quinn. I can't do that to either of them."

You run your hands over your face, hoping to shield yourself from Quinn's next criticisms.

"I'm just really confused, Santana. Why the hell did you break up with her in the first place if you're still in love with her? Why go through all that—and now this? It could be _you _and Brittany getting married on Sunday. And you would have been a part of Lilly's whole life. And…"

Quinn's honesty is putting you through the ringer tonight, but you know she's right and that makes it hurt so much more.

"Because I was stupid, Quinn. Because I was young, and stupid, and my life was a _little _fucked up if you don't recall."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You hate having to explain everything again and again. You've probably had this same argument with yourself a hundred times before. It just feels so old and exhausting now.

"I _get_ that it was a stupid thing to do, but I can't change the past now, can I?" you look up and see that she doesn't appear so annoyed with you anymore. "If I could, I would go back and _never _say the things that I said, but I can't. I have to live with the life I've created for myself. I have to live with my mistakes."

The waitress comes back with another drink as soon as you're done, and you throw the whole thing back in one sip. You think that it's probably time for you to head home.

You reach for your jacket behind you and pull out a fifty dollar bill to throw on the table. You stand up really quickly—leaving you feeling a little tipsy, but nothing you can't handle.

"I think I'm ready to go," you say.

"Are you sure? We haven't been here that long," Quinn says, but you know she sees how serious you are.

"Yeah, I'm… just done for the night," and you don't wait for Quinn to get her stuff before you're walking towards the exit and maneuvering around the herds of people.

When you reach the front door, you decide to take one last, quick peek over your shoulder, and that's when you lock eyes with Brittany for a very brief second. You don't wait long enough to notice the hint of longing in _her_ eyes, before turning away and stepping out into the cold night, the echo of piercing, truthful words ringing in your ears.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You guys are so amazing, and I'm incredibly glad you're enjoying the story thus far. I know the angst is sometimes a lot to take, but it does have a point. I like to believe that it makes everything more satisfying in the end, so if you can stick with me, I promise it will be worth it. **

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one should be up either tomorrow or Tuesday, just depending on how much time I have to write and edit. Sorry for any mistakes, and leave a review so I know what you think.**

**I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

* * *

You wake up before five and spend your early morning at the office, trying to get as much done as possible because you know you'll be gone for most of the afternoon.

Jake doesn't come in until you're ready to leave at eleven. You don't get the chance to clear the awkwardness still present between you two, but it doesn't really matter. You know you'll see him tomorrow.

You opt to go home first so you can change out of your fancy black pantsuit and into a more casual and comfortable pair of blue jeans and a turtleneck. You decide to leave your hair down because it's still somehow managing to behave, and when was the last time _that _happened?

You apply a fresh coat of make-up, because you were most likely half asleep when you did it this morning, and you don't want to end up looking like a clown or something. Although both Brittany and Lilly would surely find it hilarious.

And then you get in your car and take the short drive to their house, praying that today goes absolutely perfectly and as smooth as possible.

As soon your car pulls into the only available spot on the street, you feel a little excitement shoot up through your spine. You're going to see your daughter again, and that thought puts the biggest smile right back onto your solemn face.

After last night, you need a little cheering up.

During the entire walk up to their home, you try your hardest to keep your mind on Lilly, and Lilly alone. Because it seems that every time you think about Brittany, your happiness and excitement fades away into uneasy nerves and a tight pain inside your chest.

It's not like you're going to be able to keep those feelings at bay for that much longer, but you're going to try. Because seeing Brittany can't end up feeling like a chore to you. _Love _can't end up feeling like a chore to you, or you'll never learn to cope with your feelings for her.

Once you ring the doorbell, you only have to wait a few seconds before the bright red door in front of you is swinging open, and you're staring at two pairs of stunning azure eyes.

"Santana!" you hear Lilly's perfect, sweet voice ring out loudly before you feel two small arms wrap around your waist. They barely make it around your thin torso—they're _that_ incredibly small—but they feel utterly amazing, and you never want her to let go.

"Lilly!" you try and mirror her excited tone, and you feel her squeeze you harder as her name escapes your lips.

"She's been running around excited all morning once I told her that you were coming with us to lunch," Brittany says, and you're eyes finally find hers.

It's sad how little time it takes for those dreaded nerves to come crawling back. Your heart starts beating faster and your stomach feels like it's filled to the brim with fluttering butterflies, and you feel frustrated with how much you can't help any of it.

It doesn't matter how many times you have to remind yourself that you're still mad at her, or that she's getting married on Sunday and you're not even invited to the wedding. None of that matters, because as soon as you see her, all you feel is that want and love pumping and pouring through your veins.

You love her, and there's nothing she can do or say to change that. And if the past few days aren't evidence of that truth, nothing is.

"Hey, Britt," you say, your voice suddenly much less enthusiastic and much gentler.

Brittany's eyes are soft and kind, as she smiles back at you. Everything about her expression seems sincere. Like she's _actually _glad that you're here.

You don't get a chance to say anything else before you feel a tiny hand wrap around yours and tug. You didn't even realize that Lilly had released you from her tight embrace, and now she's pulling you right past Brittany and up the steps and into their warm home.

You have to steady yourself once your feet stumble over the shag rug at the entrance.

"Hold on, hold on," you order, laughing at Lilly's unexpected enthusiasm. For such a small little girl, your daughter is pretty darn strong.

"But I want you to meet someone," she whines, and your face turns up into the most affectionate look possible, because she's just about the cutest thing you've ever seen. And either you made one hell of a first impression, or she's the friendliest, most trusting person you've ever met, because you're completely surprised by how much she seems to like you already.

"And who is that?" you ask, and she smiles again, her perfect little white teeth shining up at you.

"He's right over here…"

"Santana?" a man's voice interrupts Lilly's words, and you quickly turn towards the sound.

Sitting on the same couch that you had been on only days before is an older man. You recognize him instantly, even though so much about him has changed since you last saw him.

"Papa, this is my new friend, Santana," Lilly introduces you as she pulls you even further into their den.

You watch as Mr. Pierce's weary face scrunches up in confusion.

"Santana, this is my most favorite-ist Papa ever," and Lilly has that proud look upon her face as she lets go of your hand and crosses her arms behind her back, swaying back and forth. Her angelic eyes jump between you and Brittany's father every second.

And she reminds you of Brittany so much it almost hurts your heart.

"I'm your _only_ Papa, little bug," Mr. Pierce says softly to Lilly before he turns back towards you.

You don't know what to think about seeing him here at first. Mainly, because he looks so different it's almost scary. The once dark brown hair on his head has now turned into that snowy shade of white. And his deep blue eyes—almost as beautiful as Brittany's and Lilly's—have now turned into a sad shade of grey. Dozens more wrinkles have appeared across his forehead and brow as well.

But the most distinguishable change appears in his expression. Because the man you used to know was one of the happiest and joyfully infectious people you had ever met, and now all you see is a weary and gravely broken face.

"Hi, Mr. Pierce," you greet this man like a stranger, because there's barely anything you recognize about him anymore. He's practically a different person in your eyes.

Brittany appears at your side, but you don't turn to look at her; your eyes can't move from the sad grey ones in front of you.

"What is _she _doing here?" Mr. Pierce says directly at Brittany, his eyes now avoiding yours. He sounds confused, but not angry or disappointed. "I didn't know you two were seeing each other again."

And then, you suddenly realize that he doesn't know Lilly is your daughter. Because if Mr. Peirce _did _know, he wouldn't be staring at Brittany like he is now. Like he knows the two of you seeing each other again is a terrible mistake. And _that_ confuses you just as much as his somber face.

You wonder why he wouldn't have figured that out by now. You wonder why he didn't figure it out in the first place—as soon as Brittany told him that she was pregnant five years ago. It's not like Brittany was having sex with anyone else then.

Mr. Pierce knows about your special _situation. _It wasn't like you were ever _planning_ on telling him—at least not until it was absolutely necessary. But when he walked in on you and Brittany when you both were seventeen and horny as hell, it was kind of hard for him to ignore.

And then you had _the talk_—which was probably one of the most uncomfortable moments of your life—before he told you that he accepted who you were and that he knew Brittany loved you, so he would too.

You once thought that he would always be a part of your life because you always had such a wonderful relationship with Brittany's family.

You never thought that you would be looking at him and wondering what happened to the man that you had once loved as a father. But here you are, and you feel as if his sadness is somehow being transferred onto you. Because looking at him makes you miss things that you haven't allowed yourself to remember in years.

"Santana moved back to New York, Daddy, so we're catching up," Brittany explains, and you cringe a little because those words don't even begin to articulate what's actually going on. You wonder why Brittany's holding back this rather large piece of information from the people closest to her.

"You lived here before?" Lilly asks, and you look downwards to meet Lilly's gorgeous, questioning eyes.

"Yeah, about five years ago… before you were even born," you answer, and she looks impressed.

You wonder what it is that seems to completely bewilder her every time you speak. Because it's creating the most price-less expressions on her face, and making your heart jump with sheer adoration every time.

"Well, we should probably be going now," Brittany interrupts the silence. "Are you gonna be okay, Daddy?"

Mr. Pierce's gaze has somehow landed on you in the past minute, and he nods his head as he gives you the most serious, warning glare. The last time you saw that expression was the following minutes after he learned that you were sleeping with his daughter.

"Okay, we should be back around two or so. Call me if there's anything you need," she smiles and then turns back towards the door to usher you and Lilly out of the house.

The drive to the restaurant uptown is long, but surprisingly nice. Lilly tells you about her upcoming dance recital in December, and asks you several times if you want to come. Even after you assure her that you do.

Brittany keeps her eyes on the road, but occasionally she sends you reassuring smiles and adds additional comments to Lilly's endless monologue. Most of the time she just corrects Lilly's somewhat unintelligible ramblings. Lilly just has somuch to say. All the time.

You want to ask Brittany about her father and why he seems so sad. There's a part of you that's scared to know the answer, but you feel almost responsible for him too.

You want to ask her why he doesn't know that you're Lilly's mother, because you would think it'd be pretty obvious to anyone who's that close to Brittany. And then you wonder who else _does _know.

You want to ask her about her mother, even though you have a feeling that it isn't going to be good news.

But all you can do is sit there and listen, because you know those aren't things that you can talk about while your daughter's in the back seat, listening to ever word you say.

And all of a sudden, you _want _alone time with Brittany, because you feel this undying accountability for her and her feelings. Like, since you crushed her once before, you have to make everything better for her now.

When you finally get to the restaurant, Lilly tells you that this is her favorite place to eat because they serve the best macaroni and cheese she's ever eaten. And apparently, Lilly's eaten _a lot _of macaroni and cheese.

"We only come here on special occasions because it's so far out of the way, but she loves it. Even the owner knows who we are," Brittany says to you as you walk through the doors and into the entrance.

The restaurant is cute; it's not too small, but it's cozy.

There're colorful murals all along the walls, and these really neat light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. It's like they took random light bulbs and lanterns and somehow made them look like art.

The hostess leads you to the corner and to a small red booth. Lilly hops up into the seat right next to you, and you can't help but grin at her pathetically.

You all order drinks and look over the menu—Lilly already knows what she wants to eat, so she proceeds to talk at you some more.

"—well, there's this one boy in my class named Jason Steward, and _he _said that ballet is for sissies. But he's kinda stupid, and no one really listens to him because he wears glasses and talks about aliens and ninjas and—stuff like that," Lilly informs you, her legs swinging again, causing your seat to bounce up and down beneath you.

"_Lilly_, be nice," Brittany instructs, and then her eyes meet yours and you smirk because, how adorable is your daughter?

For the next fifteen minutes, while you wait for your food to arrive, you listen as Lilly tells you about each and every one of her classmates. You never knew you could come to care about so many five-year-olds. But you cherish every word that comes out of her mouth, because you have so much time to make up for, and you don't want to miss a thing from here on out.

And though Brittany's trying really hard to pretend to be as interested in what Lilly is saying as you are, you can tell that her attention is drifting away as each second passes. You know how Brittany's mind works—you were her best friend for twenty years. And you know that she's probably heard about Molly Sanders and her pet lobster a hundred times before. So you decide to finally say something while Lilly is taking a breath.

And maybe you can subtly get some information out of Brittany in the process.

"So, how's your dad doing these days?" you ask and watch as Lilly suddenly takes the piece of paper and crayons in front of her and then starts scribbling away. And then for the first time since you sat down, it's silent.

You try to hold back the chuckle in your throat because she's like a goddamn leapfrog, hopping from one thing to the next in a matter of seconds. And it's pretty darn hilarious how much energy she has. It's practically never-ending, and you wish you could borrow some of it sometime.

"He's okay. Kind of sad, but he's getting by," she answers, almost sounding relieved that you managed to change the dynamic at the table.

"Can I ask why?"

You don't want to seem insensitive, but you honestly want to know what's up with him. You've never seen him like that before, and you can tell that it's taking a toll on Brittany as well.

Brittany's eyes look upset, as they come up to meet yours. You hate to think that something's causing her this much pain.

"My mom passed away shortly after I found out I was pregnant with Lilly, and it's been really hard on him," she tells you, and you practically feel your heart break at her words.

You had no idea.

Because you had broken Brittany's heart so badly that she couldn't even pick up the phone and call you to let you know that her mom had died.

And the only person you have to blame for that is yourself.

Brittany _knows _how much you appreciated having her support after your parents passed away, but she wouldn't let you have the same opportunity to be there for her.

And you would have dropped _everything_ the moment she told you, because you know exactly what it feels like to lose a parent, and you would never wish that on anyone. But she didn't. Brittany never let you back in because you had broken her worse than you ever imagined.

She could no longer trust you with her pain, and that realization is like a stab to the heart.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry," you say, your eyes trying to hold back the tears.

Because Brittany's mom—just like her father—was another parent to you. And now, all you can think of is the last conversation you had with her. The last conversation you'll _ever_ have with her.

She was so happy and enjoying life, and being the ever-persistent mother, pestering you again about when you were going to propose to Brittany for probably the hundredth time that month. She was comforting you and encouraging you, and throughout that entire day, there was never once any hint that she was sick.

And all you can think in this moment, is that you should have known. You should have been able to tell that she wasn't doing well, even if there wasn't any physical evidence to be seen. If she was sick—you _just_ should have known.

And it's going to take you a while to get used to the fact that there's nothing you could have done. There's nothing anybody could have done, because she's gone, and she isn't coming back. And now Brittany doesn't have her mother anymore, and now you feel this sudden overwhelming sympathy towards her.

Brittany shrugs her shoulders, and you watch as she struggles to keep her emotions in tact as well.

"It's not your fault. She was being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer one week, and barely a month later, she was gone. It was like whiplash, it all happened so fast."

You feel your throat close up at her words, and your eyes swell up with tears. You don't want her or Lilly to see you like this, so you wipe the wetness away quickly with the back of your hand.

"I wish I had known, Britt," you say, hoping that it doesn't cause some residual anger towards you to bubble to the surface again.

But Brittany looks surprised more than anything else.

"I didn't think you'd want to know," and her eyes tell you that she honestly believes this.

"Of _course _I'd want to know," you quickly reassure her. You don't want her to think for a second that you were ever or could ever possibly be that cold. "She's your _mom_, Britt, and she was like a mother to _me_, too."

"Yeah well, you made it _seem_ like you didn't want anything to do with me anymore…" her eyes look down, her voice fading away. And for the first time since you've seen her again, all you want to do is wrap your arms around her and never let go.

"I _told_ you that I didn't mean a lot of what I said that night. I was angry at myself, not you" you want her to look up at you so she can see the sincerity in your eyes as you speak.

"And just because I said I wasn't in love with you anymore, doesn't mean that I stopped caring about you. You were my best friend, Brittany. You were my best friend for practically my whole life, and I'll _always _hold a special place in my heart for you. You have to know that."

You reach across the table to take hold of her hand. It's so instinctual to want to comfort her. The need to make her feel better is overpowering that voice inside your head warning you not to cross any line. And you don't realize that there's another pair of eyes on you as you clasp your hand over Brittany's warm, pale skin. You instantly feel that connection with her as her touch creates a comforting current that flows up your entire arm, straight into your chest. And it distracts you from the fact that your daughter must be mighty puzzled at the interaction between you and Brittany right now.

Lilly's been so quiet with her coloring, that you almost forgot she was here.

Brittany looks at you like she's confused out of her mind that you even want to lay a hand on her again. And you feel her stare tearing you apart piece by piece, because she couldn't be any further from the truth. If you could have it your way, your hands wouldn't leave Brittany for the rest of your life.

You missed her touch that much.

But she pulls her hand away from you, when her eyes land on the little girl sitting beside you. And you watch as she wipes away the edges of her watery eyes.

You do the same.

"Why are you crying, Mommy?" Lilly asks, and you feel your heart break even more, because she sounds so worried and utterly perplexed at Brittany's upset state.

Brittany puts forth a pretty convincing, fake smile, though. "We were just talking about Grandma, bug. You know how sad I get sometimes," she explains.

Lilly just nods her head in hesitant understanding. Even though she's so young, you can see her protective eyes linger on her mother. You've never been more impressed.

After that, there's a definite sense of relief and resolution at the table.

All of your jumbled up, nervous, and angry emotions have taken a backseat to your worry and care for Brittany. You can't even think about being angry with her, when you consider all that she's gone through and _still _going through.

Your food arrives shortly after that, silence still present at the table. But it's no longer an awkward silence, because all you feel is sheer contentment and joy to just be here in the first place. Because Brittany's just reminded you how short life truly is, and how it can all be gone in the blink of an eye.

And maybe—_just maybe_—you hear the resounding words of Horace echoing inside your head, reminding you to make the most of what you've been given.

* * *

On your way out of the restaurant, Lilly's tugging at Brittany's dress, and you watch as she attempts to jump up and whisper something in Brittany's ear.

Brittany laughs after the fifth attempt to share some secret, staring dotingly at her daughter.

"You'll have to ask _her_," she says, and your ears perk at the mention of you.

Lilly turns towards you with her face colored in this cute shade of pink, like she's embarrassed or nervous to ask you something. It's so freaking adorable, it makes your stomach jump again.

"Momma says you have to work—and stuff," her eyes look away for a second, as she shuffles her little feet. "But I have dance practice today, and I was thinking that maybe, if you wanted, you could come and watch."

Of course there's almost no hesitation in your mind, but you want to make sure it's okay with Britt. And when you look up at her, all you see is her brilliant blue eyes giving you just about the sweetest look you've ever seen. And it makes your heart pound and your ears turn red, because… could you love these two girls _any _more?

Brittany gives you this barely-noticeable nod and soft smile, and you feel your face turn up instantly at her permission.

"I would _love _to come watch you dance, Lilly," you answer, and you've never seen her look more pleased.

When you get into the car to drive back to their house, Brittany tells you that she's teaching Lilly's class at four, so you don't have to wait around if you don't want to.

But you assure her that you're not too busy with work—even though it's sort of a lie—and that you'll take any opportunity to see Lilly if you can.

Brittany looks surprisingly pleased at your response, like she wasn't quite expecting how well you would adjust to all of this. How committed you are to this whole being a mother thing.

And then you wonder what she _really _thinks of you right now. You wonder how she honestly feels about having you back in her life again—constantly seeing you and running into you. You know she didn't think she'd ever see you again—probably _hoped _more than anything else. But now you're with her practically every day, and you're starting to think that she might start trusting you again.

You know that's a lot to ask for, but it doesn't stop you from hoping for it anyways.

* * *

Mr. Pierce is gone by the time you get back to Brittany's house. She says she got a text from him saying that he was going out for a walk while you were at lunch. You don't miss the worry sketched across her wrinkled forehead as she tells you this.

You want to ask her if she thinks he's okay, but you don't want to upset her or cause any more concern.

"He just keeps to himself a lot these days," she explains, once you take a seat on a stool in their kitchen and watch her pour a glass of grape juice for Lilly.

You think that Lilly probably doesn't need any more sugar in her system—she's already hyper enough. But Brittany's never listened to your warnings about the affects of copious amounts of sugar before, so you don't bother with the lecture now.

And Lilly grabs the cup of juice before taking off with loud giggles echoing behind her as she goes. You roll your eyes at how silly she is, before turning your attention back to Brittany.

"Can I ask you something?" you say, just testing the waters now that Lilly's out of the room.

Brittany raises her eyebrows at you. "Sure."

You're not exactly sure how to start the question or conversation or whatever, and here you are at a loss for words. And you're an attorney for heaven's sake.

"Why doesn't he know that Lilly's mine? Your dad, I mean" you ask hesitantly and then begin playing with the funky coasters resting on the counter in front of you.

Brittany puts the juice back in the fridge as you wait; you can see her thinking deeply as she closes the door and then looks back towards you. She's biting her lip and staring at you nervously, like she's not sure if she wants to tell you the truth.

But then you watch as something clicks in her head, and she sighs loudly.

"He thinks that she was the product of a one night stand," she tells you. "I just—I didn't want to complicate anything else for them."

There's something so sad about the way Brittany's been talking to you today. And now it's like a hundred times worse.

"But…"

You know she gets what you're thinking as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

When she looks at you again, you can see the tears threatening to break free once more as she winces.

"I didn't want to d-disappoint them," and then she covers her eyes with her hands as the tears finally come pouring out.

It's like all the hurt and angst that's been building up inside her all day is crashing through this tough exterior that she created_ just_ for you. And now she's finally comfortable enough to just let it all go.

You don't wait one more second before you're on your feet and taking the few steps towards her. And then you're wrapping her up in your embrace—your arms finding their special place over her shoulders as her hands come up to your back and pull you in closer.

This is the way you've always held each other, and now—now, it almost feels like you've found your way home again.

Her head buries itself in the soft crook between your neck and shoulder, as violent sobs rack through her body. And you just hold her tighter as she cries.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. You're okay," you hush as you rub soft, comforting circles along her back, trying to calm the trembles rolling through her frame.

You never thought you'd ever be doing _this_ again—holding Brittany in your arms—but now that you have, it feels so much better than you remember. And even though she's so upset, she _feels_ absolutely perfect; like there's nowhere else she could possibly belong. Like there's no other set of arms that could hold her better. Like you never want to leave her again.

And as her hot tears finally soak through your shirt, you start to wonder if you can even let her go now. If it's even physically possible for you to step away, walk away, and watch your entire life just slip out of your grasp again. _Oh boy_, do you wonder.

"I'm s-sorry," she sniffles and lays her forehead on your shoulder, hiding her face.

You don't want her to ever feel embarrassed around you. You don't want her to feel like she has to hide from you ever again.

You shake your head, your chin bumping into her softly. "Don't be sorry. It's completely _okay_," your words mean so much more than that. So much more than you could ever articulate to her.

You don't know how long you stand there like that, with her in your arms as she cries. But eventually her tears stop flowing, and her body stops shaking altogether, and then it's somehow turned into something else completely. Something more than comforting support.

Because she's humming into your warm skin, and you're smiling widely because—well, just _because_. And then her arms are rubbing at your back and pulling you in even tighter, if that's at all possible. She exhales with relief and calmness, her sweet breath washing over your face, and you freeze.

Because it suddenly makes you dizzy in the head and a little cloudy with desire. And you quickly realize that you shouldn't be touching each other like this. Not now, not ever again. And _especially _not when it feels this good.

So you clear your throat and give her back one more soft rub, before letting go and taking a small step backwards.

And because you don't want to make it seem like it was a big deal—because it definitely wasn't—you smile at her and say something to clear the air.

"You could _never_ disappoint them," you declare, and Brittany gives you this _look_ that hints at something you're not sure you can believe.

Because maybe there's a part of _her _that is just as unwilling as you are.

Maybe there's a part of Brittany that isn't ready to watch her life slip away for a second time either.

And somewhere inside of you, an inkling of _something _is creating doubt. And that _doubt—_well, it's strong enough to crack even the soundest sense of right and wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! I'm so sorry for the wait, but I had to go back to school and things were a little crazy for a bit, so I wasn't able to write nearly as much as I wanted. Hopefully I should be able to update more frequently now because I've settled back down again, but please bear with me and try to be patient. I promise that I won't abandon this fic. **

**Also, this chapter is much shorter than usual, but I will be updating again this weekend, so hopefully that will make up for it. Thanks for all the PMs and reviews; they mean so much to me and I really appreciate all the support. Keep it coming!**

**I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

* * *

Watching Lilly dance is like staring into a mirror and seeing a blurry image from your past move across the glass, right before your eyes. And even as you sit there, nestled on a cold, uncomfortable metal chair and surrounded by a dozen other women who frighteningly remind you of those dance moms you see on television, you can't help but feel like you've taken a step back into the past and found yourself at Brittany's very first dance recital again.

You remember sitting there in your cute, little red velvet dress with Brittany's parents on either side of you as you stared up in total awe. Because even though you were only seven, and you didn't really understand anything about dance, you _knew_ that Brittany was incredible. You knew that she was meant to be forever moving in that almost transcendent way that left you undeniably breathless.

Brittany always had such a presence on the stage—like there wasn't anywhere else she belonged. Like there was no other place that made her happier. And sometimes when you watched her, you were sure that she would dance until the last remaining seconds of her life.

As you watch your daughter dance now, all you see is Brittany. All you see is a beautiful little girl who takes your breath away and makes your heart drown in love.

Lilly makes you remember things that you didn't even think you could ever recall.

She reminds you of happiness and innocence and everything that you used to love about being a kid.

But most importantly, Lilly reminds you of Brittany. And that just makes you love your daughter even more.

"She's amazing," you say to Brittany as the two of you watch from behind the glass window separating a tiny viewing room from the rest of the studio.

You hear her hum in agreement and turn to watch her smile at your daughter.

It seems that Brittany finally knows how you felt when you watched her dance as a little girl. When you used to get that weird fluttering in your tummy that made you both nervous and so incredibly happy. When you probably first fell in love with her, even if you were too young to understand what that actually meant or the consequences of that truth.

Brittany has that same look and shining in her eyes that you carried with you practically every day growing up. Every day that you got to look at Brittany and think that she was and would always be your best friend.

"Her passion amazes me every single day," Brittany states and your heart swells.

"Just like her mom," you say without any hesitation.

Brittany's eyes fall on you, while her warm hand slowly snakes its way up to grasp between your fingers.

"Yeah, she really is," and you let your gaze fall to the simple yet powerful touch that tingles and buzzes like a million vibrations running up your arm and through your spine, and all you can do is grin like the biggest fool.

When Brittany goes into the studio to teach the class a few minutes later, all you do is gawk and stare and try your hardest to pretend that your heart isn't melting into a puddle at your feet, and that it's completely acceptable to be looking at Brittany in the way you're looking at her.

But every now and then, when Brittany glances over her shoulder, past the glass and dozen small children to smirk and grin at you, you're pretty sure that you could care less about whether it's acceptable or not.

And now—after this afternoon and everything that you've learned and remembered—you're not sure if you want to hide from her anymore.

* * *

"What'd you think? What'd you think?" Lilly asks enthusiastically as she twirls circles around you in her black leotard and bright pink ballet shoes and tutu. Her hair is a giant mess around her head—small curls that you didn't realize she had before spiral and spring in a thousand different directions under the bright fluorescent lights above your heads. And she keeps wiping strands away from her deep, blue eyes so she doesn't miss a single thing.

"You were _so _amazing," you say and watch as she springs forth at your words to wrap her small, pale arms around your waist. At first it startles you a little, but then you feel the exuberance and delight emanating through her touch and you can't help but bring your hands to the top of her head to cradle her in your arms.

Brittany looks on amusedly and you grin widely at her, feeling your heart jump so high in your chest that you feel like you're flying. Soaring to the heavens and crashing to Earth into a sea of feelings—amazing feelings that you haven't felt in too long.

"Come on Bug, it's time to get home," Brittany giggles as she pulls Lilly away a couple minutes later.

And as you walk out of the small studio, Brittany has this silly, incredibly content look on her face that reminds you of when you were young and high on sugar and the summer sun and sweet, perfect love. You haven't seen this look since high school, before everything got messed up, and now it's so refreshing and beautiful that all you want to do is wrap her up in your embrace and kiss her senseless. You don't even bother wishing away that though because it's so strong and prominent in your heart and head.

You've suddenly realized that lying to yourself isn't going to make you want her any less. You could go blind, deaf, and dumb and you would _still _want to place your lips to hers and never leave again.

And there's nothing she could say or do that would change that.

On the way through the parking lot to the car, her body moves with a newfound confidence and excitement in front of you, sexy yet soft at the same time. And though you've seen glimpses of this Brittany a few times in the past week, nothing compares to the beauty of her now—like she's finally, _truly _found comfort and trust in you again. And it would break your heart to disappoint her now, after everything that you've gotten back.

She buckles Lilly into her booster seat in contemplative silence, and you look on in curiosity, taking mental notes, in case you have to do the same for Lilly one day in the near future. You don't want to look incapable or ignorant when it comes to the safety of your daughter.

And though Lilly was practically jumping and rocking with energy and excitement barely five minutes earlier, you watch her yawn cutely and blink a few times in sequence, like it's almost a struggle to keep her eyes open. And you shake your head and laugh to yourself because you will never understand how it's possible for her to be so much like Brittany, yet so perfectly young at the same time.

As Brittany shuts the back door, you watch Lilly reach for a little purple bear that is sitting in the seat next to her out of the rearview mirror. She sweetly rubs her index finger and thumb over the furry, frayed ears a few times before she brings the stuffed animal close to her chest and rests her head on the side of the seat. Barely five seconds later, her eyes are shutting and her breathing is settling into steady, even breaths.

"I've never been more jealous of a child than I am right now," you admit as you turn around and face Lilly's now-sleeping form. Brittany follows your gaze behind you and chuckles at the sight.

"Santana the insomniac, huh?" she whispers as she turns the key in the ignition and backs out of the parking lot.

"I just have a lot on my mind lately," you reply, honestly.

Brittany's eyes turn sad for a moment as she looks directly into your eyes. You know that she's thinking it's her fault—with all the secrets that she kept from you for years.

"I'm sorry, Santana. Again, I'm_ so _sorry for everything," she repeats for probably the hundredth time in the past few days.

"I know," and you honestly mean it. You don't question her regret and apology—that was never the problem. You're just upset that she had to give it to you in the first place. And though you can easily admit that you are head-over-heels still in love with her, there is still a bit of resentment beneath it all. And only time can heal this type of wound to your soul.

And then the timer that's been subtly ticking away, almost hiding in the back of your mind for the past few months makes its presence known again, and you feel a bit of nausea and anxiety suddenly and unexpectedly erupt inside of you again. Because you don't _really _have that much time. Truthfully, things are going to be a lot different in only a matter of days. And working on forgiving Brittany will be the least of your problems or worries after this weekend.

Because Brittany will be married. _Brittany_ will be a wife to someone who isn't you. And yeah, you've had plenty of time to get used to that idea. You even made a rational decision that you thought was _right_ and that you believed you could deal with. You werecompletely willing to sacrifice your happiness for Brittany and your daughter, but now—all of a sudden and completely out of nowhere—it makes you just plain _sick _to think about Brittany's wedding.

Now that you've gotten to know your daughter and finally found _your_ Brittany again, you realize that it's going to be next to impossible to let her go.

And who ever said that it was okay for some man, who you don't even _know_, to help raise your child? Who said that you don't get a say?

And when you finally realize that you're angry—like really, _really _mad—your hands are shaking like crazy and you're gritting your teeth sharply, staring past the window with a fierce and intense gaze that could blind someone if they looked you straight in the eyes.

You're shocked at how quickly you went from utter contentment to extreme anger, and it almost makes it too hard to breathe.

Brittany doesn't notice your sudden changed countenance, her eyes still fixed on the road, her head still in the blissful clouds from earlier. She looks so damn beautiful that it makes you gasp and then reel with frustration and fury.

Because you want her so much it hurts, and you do resent her for how she's made you feel. Especially when you know that you can't have her, but someone else can.

Now your head is a giant mess, and… _fuck _her—fuck her for making you second-guess yourself. Fuck her for turning you into this pitiful person who wants to be selfish and unfair. Fuck her for making you love her _still_.

_God_, why do you have to love her so fucking much?

When you finally pull up to their house, you've managed to push the surface of your anger away, even if it's still festering underneath it all. You're all fake smiles and forged politeness as Brittany gets out and begins unbuckling Lilly from her chair. Your daughter's still fast asleep as Brittany carries her up the steps to the front door. And you're so preoccupied with _your _feelings that you totally miss the extra car parked outside.

So when you open the door so Brittany can carry your daughter into their house, you're definitely caught off-guard by the man sitting on the couch—the man who you _were_ willing and ready to trust with the two most important people in your life, but now can't even look at.

"Hey, Babe," his eyes light up at the sight of Brittany, and you bite your tongue and silently hiss under your breath at his words.

And as he gets up from the couch to come stand in front of Brittany and lean forward to press a quick kiss hello to her lips, you have to close your eyes.

The desire to just leave is getting stronger and stronger every second, and you decide that you need to get out. You can't stand here and pretend like this is okay. You're done with that. You decided earlier that you were done pretending to be something you aren't. You're done hiding—and right now, you don't think you can control the feelings that are pumping through your veins.

You need time to think—you need time to figure out what you're going to do. And you can't do that here.

"I'll see you later, Britt," you say through gritted teeth, and Brittany turns around instantly to face you. Her face is suddenly confused at the tone of your voice, her face scrunched up in perplexity and surprise.

And for the first time since you arrived, she seems to finally notice your anger. Because that cloud that she was flying through for the past hour or so is now nowhere to be seen. She's now grounded—somehow found her way back to reality, and she's giving you this look that breaks your heart and reminds you of how much you're helplessly in love with her all at the same time.

You turn on your heels and quickly walk out the door, leaving behind a scene that you don't want to ever see again. Even if it feels like it's been burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Santana wait—," Brittany calls behind you, but you're already down the steps and heading out into the street.

You make it all the way inside your car—seatbelt on and key in the ignition—before Brittany is swiftly opening the passenger door and lowering herself into the seat next to you. You don't look at her—you _can't_. But you don't start the car either; you just sit there and wait.

"_Santana_—," Brittany starts, but you quickly hold your hand up, not allowing her to continue.

"No," you say harshly.

"What's _wrong_?" she asks, like she's honestly confused why you're upset.

You want to laugh at her because—come _on_—how can she _not _know?

"Why are you so mad all of a sudden?"

And you roll your eyes and shake your head at her before looking up to meet the truest and softest pair of blue eyes that you've ever seen. And you want to cry.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to be okay with this," you whisper, the uncertainty and underlying fear threatening to break free from your words. They're the source of your anger, after all.

"With what?" Brittany asks in that innocent voice that makes it almost impossible to stay mad at her.

You close your eyes, pull your bottom lip between your teeth and take a deep, long breath through your nose. The tears are threatening to fall and you're trying your best to stay strong for everyone's sake at this point.

"I should go," you finally say, and Brittany just looks worried and more confused than ever.

"Santana?"

You watch her carefully and eventually manage to display a sufficient smile in hopes of pleasing her, but she doesn't budge. She wants an explanation that you don't think you're ready to give yet.

"I have work tomorrow, Britt. I should be getting home," you try again.

Brittany looks defeated at your words, but you think she finally gets your message.

"I have a thing at nine in the morning," she says, drawing her eyes down. "Do you mind taking Lilly for a couple of hours?"

"Of course," you nod and turn the key to start up the car. Brittany takes that as her cue to get out, so she does hesitantly.

And as you back out onto the street and start driving away, your eyes never leave her image displayed in the mirror above your head.

You silently tell yourself that you have a hell of a lot to think about in the next few hours.

Like how much you suddenly _really _want to stop a wedding.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! Hopefully it clears some things up and gives a few of you something that you asked for. I really hope you enjoy this chapter; it's my heart and soul poured into a few thousand words, so please be kind. I'm sorry for any mistakes, and please leave a review so I know what you think.**

**I don't own these characters or anything related to Glee.**

* * *

Two days. Two days. Two days.

Those are the only words that repeat over and over in your head like a never-ending chant, leaving you jittering as you sit cross-legged on the coffee table in your living room. You've been drinking caffeine nonstop since you got back to your apartment this evening, the sixth mug of scalding hot coffee resting between the palms of your hands. You can't even fathom the idea of sleep because your head is running miles every second and the thought of dreaming is way too daunting and intimidating now.

Two days. Two days. Two days.

The words scare you shitless, and all you can wonder is: what if you don't have enough time?

What if you're too late?

You stare at the clock hanging on the wall, wishing and praying that you could somehow reverse the inevitable. If you try hard enough and want it enough, maybe—just _maybe, _you can turn back the time. And then you wouldn't be in this position in the first place. You wouldn't have to be thinking up ways to stop a wedding.

You've been going over the possibilities for hours now.

You know that you're going to have to tell Brittany the truth about what happened five years ago. You're going to have to tell her that you lied and fucked up. You have to make it absolutely clear that you were wrong, and that you didn't mean a single thing that you said.

But even that won't be enough to make her come running back into your arms. Brittany's stubborn and thoughtful and you're going to have to fucking _fight _if you want her to choose you. You've both changed so much, and you can't forget that she fell in love with someone else. That she loved him enough to share her home and agree to marry him.

You're going to have to remind her of why there_ is_ no choice in the first place. You have to remind her of an entire childhood together, of hot summers and long winters filled with curiosity and changes that left you breathless and stunned, and years upon years of incredible desire and deep, endless, once-in-a-lifetime love.

And then she'll know. She'll finally know, because she'll remember how much she loved you and how much she never stopped.

* * *

_You're four years old when you first meet Brittany in kindergarten. _

_She's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, with her big blue eyes and blonde-white hair, and as soon as your eyes find each other from across the small room, you know that you want to be her best friend._

_She catches you a little off-guard at first, though, because she can't sit still and her breath smells like jolly ranchers and all she does is ramble on and on about some stupid cat with a ridiculous name that makes you laugh. She smiles a lot, though, which you secretly love._

_She shares her crayons with you when you forget them every now and then, and she offers to carry your backpack for you most days because you're really small and she's practically a giant hovering over you._

_She sings a lot too and says things that confuse you, but she has a heart that's too easy to love, and she's the nicest person you've ever met. _

_She doesn't ask about the color of your skin, and why you look so different from all the other people in Lima, Ohio. She sticks up for you when the other boys pick on you because of how young you are, and she gives you piggyback rides around the courtyard when she feels like showing off her strength. _

_But the one thing that you love more than anything else about her is the way she dances._

_She shows you one afternoon after school when you come over to her house for the first time. _

_She flips on the radio in her room and turns around to give you a giant, bright smile, and she says, "watch this." _

_And you do. _

_When you go home that night, you try and dance like Brittany in front of the floor-length mirror on your door, but you can't. Because she's incredible and talented in ways that you aren't. And you decide then and there that you want to be exactly like her._

* * *

_You're eight when she finally finds our about your extra "addition." You're actually surprised that you made it that long, considering how much time the two of you spend together on a weekly basis._

_It's the summer after third grade and Brittany invites you over to her house for the fifth time that week to swim in their backyard pool. _

_You're still in your swim trunks and bathing suit when you enter her bedroom to change into your pajamas for the night. Brittany had been downstairs talking to her mom while you went upstairs, so you were pretty sure that you were clear to undress. _

_But once your bottoms come off, and you're standing stark naked in the middle of her bedroom, Brittany just so happens to swing the door wide open and see you in all your glory. _

_At first she just sort of stares, and then she starts giggling and furrowing her eyebrows at you in confusion. _

"_Santana, why do you have boy parts down there?" she doesn't sound shocked or disgusted; she just seems honestly intrigued. _

_And you blush and dress faster than ever while you try and figure out how to answer her. Because there really isn't any sort of explanation that you can give her that will make sense. _You_ don't even understand why you are the way you are. _

_You settle for, "I was just born different," and warn her about how your condition has to stay a secret. You beg her not to tell her parents because you don't want them to keep the two of you apart._

"_I promise, Santana," she says and nods her head._

_You exhale loudly in complete relief and smile back at her as she slowly crosses the room to meet you at the center. _

"_Best friends always keep each other's secrets."_

_And she wraps her long arms around you in a hug that is somehow more comforting than any other you've ever been given._

* * *

_When you first feel it, you're not exactly sure what to think. _

_Brittany's always been your best friend—practically a sister to you. But when you catch her kissing Brandon Miles behind the gym one afternoon in eighth grade, something changes. _

_You feel butterflies in your stomach as you watch her move against him; there's not a timid bone in her body, and her confidence barrels through you like a train at full speed. You feel your heart beat faster and your hands turn clammy as her lips touch his. But most shockingly, you feel all the blood rush to a certain part between your legs, and it suddenly aches with desire._

_It's the first time it happens, and you're so freaked out by it that you almost pass out. _

_Because your best friend made it happen. Her long, toned legs and curvy hips. Her soft breasts and strong arms are suddenly turning you on for the first time, and it scares the living hell out of you. _

_Because_ Brittany_—the girl who you've shared a bed with hundreds of times and seen naked more times than you can count—is suddenly the most attractive person you've ever seen. And you want her to be kissing you instead of some other boy. _

_And as eighth grade reaches its end and ninth grade starts, and those feelings have only gotten stronger, you're suddenly one hundred percent sure that you're in love with your best friend._

_So you decide to tell her one night. _

_You're sitting on her bed studying chemistry while she reads through some trashy Cosmo magazine, when you realize that you can't take it any more. She's completely distracting you from everything you attempt to do now, and you want her so much that it hurts._

"_Hey, Britt?" your voice is weak and nervous. You're practically shaking as she looks up at you._

"_Hmmm?"_

"_I think I'm in love with you," you sound unsure, but you most definitely aren't. What you really meant to say was, "I know I'm in love with you," but you're a bit of a coward._

_Brittany surprises you once again, though. Because she just smiles brightly and hops over to sit right in front of you, her legs folded awkwardly beneath her. _

"_Well, duh," and she leans forward to kiss you for the first time. _

_It's quick and innocent, but it leaves you reeling and dizzy. Your lips sting from the electricity as she leans back to search your face for approval. She can read you better than anyone by now. _

_So she does it again. And again. And again for the next two hours. _

_Brittany's the first girl that you ever kiss, and after that night, you're sure that you never want to kiss anyone else._

* * *

_You've been feeling really down lately, and Brittany's been trying hard to make you feel better with silly love notes and sweet kisses by your lockers after school, but even your girlfriend can't fix this. _

_Because somehow a rumor about your condition got out, and now half of the tenth grade thinks that you're a freak._

_You know that you shouldn't care what other people think, but it's high school, so of course you do. _

"_Come on, Santana," Brittany whines as she tugs on your sleeve. "You have to get up."_

_You've spent the last two days in bed, practically petrified to get up and leave to face the harsh realities lying outside of your room. _

"_Noooo," you moan and turn over to bury your face into your pillow. "I can't."_

_You feel Brittany shift to lie down on top of you, her front against your back as she leans forward to breathe at your ear. _

"_Why are you so sad?" she sounds innocent in every sense of the word as she starts playing with your hair, twisting the strands around her long, pale fingers into dark ringlets at your cheeks._

"_You know why," you huff out into the fabric and then turn your head to the side to breathe the sharp, clean air of your room again._

_Brittany's face is right there, inches from yours with the most beautiful eyes, piercing your soul until you're bleeding out never-ending streams of affection._

"_I love you," she whispers as she leans the last inch forward to place her soft lips to yours briefly. You melt into her embrace; it's effortless and easy. Everything with Brittany has always been so simple._

_You roll over a couple of seconds later, surprising Brittany as she falls onto your chest in a fit of giggles._

_And then you watch as something clicks in her head and she quickly turns serious in her expression. Her eyes are dark with something that you haven't seen before. And when her mouth returns to yours quicker than ever, you forget how to breathe. She consumes you in the best way possible. Everything about her calms you down and makes your blood rush all at the same time. _

_Because when you're like this—with Brittany pretty much curled up inside of you with her forceful and gorgeous mouth practically swallowing yours, you can _feel _how much she loves you. With every stroke of her tongue against yours and every sexy bite to your lips, you can't help but groan out loudly with desire. _

_And then Brittany's doing something that she's never done before, and you freeze. _

_Because her fingers are tugging at your pants and she's rocking against you in a way that is anything but innocent. _

_And she's suddenly whispering into your ear that she's ready, and you're suddenly harder than you've ever been in your entire life. _

_But you feel unsure because you don't want Brittany to be giving this to you just to make you feel better, so you quickly push her away. Her arms come to the sides of your head as she looks down at you, her blonde hair falling into a curtain around your head. _

"_Britt, I don't…" you're nervous and cautious, but then Brittany is attacking your lips again, even more certain and aggressive in her actions, and you know that there isn't a single hesitant cell in her body anymore. You can feel how much she wants this—how much she's ready to share this with you._

_How much she's ready to show you that you are _anything_ but a freak._

_So she does. _

_And when you move inside of her for the first time, the world stops around you, and all you smell, see and feel is Brittany. Everything else just disappears. _

_She's more beautiful than anything you've ever seen, with her neck stretched out, her face contorted in pure pleasure, and her arms wrapped securely around your back like you're now a part of her… because you are. _

_Soft whimpers and moans escape her lips as you make love to every part of her body that you can. Your hands are everywhere—at her breasts and hips and legs and back and hot, slick heat. Your lips never leave her skin, imprinting your marks over every inch of white flesh._

_And you fall in love with her over and over again with every thrust and pull of hips. With every breathless kiss and heated, sweaty touch. You want to be doing this forever and never stop, because it's the most amazing feeling in the world—being _this _close to Brittany._

_You whisper sweet nothings into her ear, which only make her moan louder and hold you closer and tighter. And soon she's a quivering mess beneath you as she's coming undone once and then twice and then all over again._

_Because you can't stop._

_You need to feel this for as long as possible. You _need _her to know how special she is, and how she is the _only _person who can wipe away all of your insecurities with just a touch and a few simple words. _

_ And after what seems like hours of pure and utter bliss, you feel yourself reach a peak so tall that you're almost too scared to fall over. _

_But Brittany's there, holding you and loving you, and you feel safe to make the plunge. _

_And when you do, it's like peering into the heavens and being blind from the beauty of it all. When you let go and finally release everything that you've been holding onto for the past twelve years, you have no strength left. And you collapse onto Brittany in a mess of limbs and shaking pieces, and you just try to breathe again._

_It's silent except for your hurried breaths and soft hums of contentment as you two lie in the aftermath of perfection. And then Brittany stirs beneath you and her hands begin rubbing the smooth skin at your back. You nestle into the crook at her neck and sigh._

_Brittany laughs into your ear as she groans, "My _God, _Santana."_

_And you smile bigger than ever as you slowly lift yourself up and onto your arms to look down into her purely satiated eyes._

_You lay a soft kiss to her cheek and grin. _

"_I love you, too."_

* * *

_When you graduate from high school, you've never been more excited and ready to leave Ohio. Brittany's by your side as you make the trip to New York to start school; the two of you enroll at NYU and begin classes in the fall._

_You know you want to sing. _

_Ever since glee club and nationals, you've realized that singing is for you, what dancing is for Brittany. It's your passion and way of expressing the parts of yourself that you've never been good at showing to the world. _

_Brittany stands by your side faithfully for four years as you finish your musical studies at NYU. She applies to Juilliard after sophomore year, and by your graduation, she's officially transferred and enrolled full-time at one of the most prestigious art schools in the world. _

_You've never been more proud of her. _

_And it seems like everything is going perfectly. It seems like all your dreams are finally coming true. _

_You're happy and Brittany's happy and there isn't anything else you would wish for. _

_But sometimes things are too easy. Sometimes, when you think luck is actually on your side for once, it just ends up biting you in the ass._

_And unfortunately for you, that's exactly what happens._

* * *

_When you first lose your voice, you just assume that you've overworked yourself, so you tell your manager that you need to take it easy for a few days. _

_But then you realize rather quickly that something isn't right, so you set up an appointment with your voice doctor. And when he utters the words "vocal surgery," you stiffen and cringe inwardly because nothing good can ever come from those two words. _

_You're truly scared out of your mind as they cart you away for your procedure a month later. Brittany holds your hand tightly in hers for as long as she can. You're so grateful that she could take off school to be here with you, because you would be lost without her by your side._

"_It's going to be okay, babe," she whispers into your ear, and you want to believe her. You really do._

_But the surgery doesn't go well. Even after months of recovery, everything about your voice is different. The label doesn't really end up liking those differences; it's not like you can blame them, though. You know that you won't ever sing like you used to be able to. And admitting that to yourself practically kills you. _

_When Brittany comes home from school one night to find you sobbing yourself into oblivion on the couch, you watch her heart break with yours. _

_And for the next year, Brittany has to cradle you to sleep each and every night._

* * *

_You don't think things can get any worse for you—you're working two miserable jobs just to try and pay rent so Brittany can continue with school—but it does. _

_You get the call while you're at work one night. It's not really all that busy at the bar, so you've been sitting at an empty table and playing with your phone while a few people filter in and out every few hours. _

_At first you think it's some kind of joke because your uncle is a pretty funny guy and he likes to kid around a lot. But when he keeps weeping into the phone about some sort of "freak car accident", you start to cry. _

_You and Brittany take the trip back to Lima for the funeral. It's only the second time that you've been back since you left almost five years ago, but everything feels completely different this time._

_Because now you're watching as your parents' coffins are being lowered into the ground, and you can barely breathe as Brittany holds you tightly from behind. _

"_I'm so, so sorry," she cries into your shoulder as the two of you leave the church and ride back to her house. _

_Her parents and the rest of your family are kind and understanding for the next few months as you grieve, but for some reason, their sympathy only makes you mad._

_And as the months go on, that anger turns you into someone who you don't recognize one tiny bit. And that you hate with a passion._

* * *

_You've been drinking a lot for the past few nights. It's the only thing that can distract you from the fucking mess that is now your life. _

_It's so bad that even Brittany can't make it right. _

_Because the damage to your pride is now irreparable. You can deal with the bills and the terrible jobs. You can even deal with your parents' death now, after months of grieving. But the one thing that you can't cope with is how utterly pathetic you feel. Like you don't deserve a single fucking thing._

_And you know that it's breaking Brittany's heart each and every day to watch you break down right in front of her. _

_You see how her eyes turn sad every time you stumble through the apartment door at two o'clock in the morning, hammered and completely and utterly lifeless. _

_She asks you where you go, but you can't even look at her to respond. You don't want to look at her face to see the disappointment that will surely be etched there. _

_So you mutter unintelligible slurs and collapse onto the couch—you haven't shared a bed with Brittany for at least two months now—and listen as she runs off to cry herself to sleep._

_She's so kind and wonderful and _good_, and you just... aren't. _

_You aren't worthy of anything good. And so you most definitely aren't worthy of Brittany._

_And that's what you tell yourself that night in January, when your head is actually clear for the first time in a week. You know that you have to be sober for this. For Brittany._

_When you walk through the door at six, Brittany looks absolutely stunned to see you. And once she realizes that you aren't drunk, she actually looks relieved. It's like a sting to your heart, though, because you know that relief will only last minutes once you start. _

_You've prepared what you're going to say to her because Brittany will put up a good fight, and you have to be ready for everything. After all, she loves you more than anything else in this world, and she won't ever want to give up on you. _

_But she has to, and it's going to hurt you to break her. It's going to kill you to destroy her like this, but you know that you have to let her go. You need time alone to fix yourself and find the pieces of your soul that you lost along the way. And you can't do that with Brittany by your side. _

_You just can't._

_You look her straight in the eye, probably for the first time in months, as you stand in front of the door and watch her. _

_Your face is still and sad, your eyes in contemplative remembrance as pictures of your past flash before you. _

_Memories of mornings by the pool and summers under the stars. Winter evenings curled up by a warm fire and afternoons tangled across beds while you made love like it was your only life source and you would die if you didn't. _

_You know that you're saying goodbye to all of it… at least for now. And it's so hard to hold back the tears of farewell that want to come flooding out. _

_But you have to. _

"_I'm having an affair, Brittany." The words come rushing out before you're ready, but you guess timing really doesn't matter at this point. _

_A lie is a lie no matter how or when you tell it. _

_Brittany just blinks a few times and then drops her gaze to the ground. _

"_No, you're not," she quickly retorts._

_You step forward and move your hand to lift her chin up to meet your fixed gaze. Your expression is nothing but serious as you continue to spout the lies you've prepared. _

"_Yes, I am. I have been for months now."_

_Brittany just looks confused and bewildered at your statement, but you can't tell if she believes you or not yet, so you continue._

"_I thought that I could deal with it, but I can't anymore. I can't keep pretending that…" you stop to swallow and take a deep breath, because this is going to hurt more than anything you've ever done. _

_Brittany's eyes are huge and filled to the brim with tears, and it takes every bit of strength to keep your gaze on her and not let it wander away. You can't seem weak right now. _

"_I don't love you anymore, Brittany. I'm not happy with us; in fact, I've never been more miserable."_

_The tears come pouring out after that. Her whimpers quake her entire body as her head shakes back and forth, unwilling to believe you. _

"_I hate this apartment. I hate this goddamn city. And I hate…" _

_She cringes as you struggle to finish, quickly stepping forward to grab your face within the palms of her hands to stare you right in the eyes as she waits for you to say the words. Like if you actually say it while she's peering right into your very soul, then you truly mean it. _

"_I hate you," you whisper and watch as she rapidly falls apart in front of you, shattering into a million pieces across the tile of your foyer. _

"_Why are you d-doing th-this?" she stutters and mumbles through the thick tears. _

_Her eyes are so wrecked that you actually let a single teardrop slip. You quickly wipe it away before Brittany can see it._

"_Because I don't want this anymore, Brittany. I don't want an 'us' anymore. There's a 'you' and there's a 'me' now," you motion between the two of you. "And it's the only way that works."_

_Brittany bites her lip before furrowing her eyebrows at you in sudden frustration and anger._

"_So you slept with some whore, to what? Make a point? To rub it in? I _know_ things haven't been going so well, but_ I_ didn't run off and fuck some random just to spite you," she practically yells at you, pure unadulterated fury seeping from her words as the tears continue to pour. _

_She surprises you with her anger, but you won't answer her question. Even if your response is a total lie._

_That's the _one_ thing you won't take away from her. Because you could _never_ pretend that making love with Brittany was anything but earth-shatteringly special and perfect in every single way. You won't allow yourself to go that far, not ever. No matter what._

"_You're such a fucking coward, Santana."_

_You stand there together in silence for about ten minutes after that, Brittany sniffling as she wipes away the last remaining tears. She looks so heartbroken and all you want is to hold her and kiss her and never let her go, but all you can do is just stand there and pretend like you aren't in love with the love of your life. _

_And it's exactly as hard as it sounds._

"_I think you should go," Brittany finally decides, and you quickly nod in agreement. You've already made arrangements to stay the night at Quinn's. _

_All you get on the way out is a solemn, "good luck, Santana," and the image of a closed black door stained to your vision. _

"_Bye, Britt," and you let the tears finally fall from your inconsolable eyes. _


End file.
